


baby, it's you

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Beatles Tribute [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Past Abuse, Single Mom Sansa, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 113,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: “Sansa, please,” Jon had pled with her, grasping her hands. “I’ll tell Robb. I promise you.”Sansa had shaken her head, pulling her hands from his and cursing the tears that had insisted on building up in her eyes despite her best efforts. “You won’t.” She said it in a whisper, but her words were strong. “I know that now.”***Sansa has only been in love one time during her life, but that's in the past and now, she's trying to start over - getting over a relationship that left her broken on the inside and out while trying to give her young son the best life possible. She doesn't have time to dwell on Jon Snow and pine after him. She's been over him for years now. Completely over him.





	1. One

…

 

**One.**

 

The little boy runs so quickly, he nearly trips over his feet, but he manages to keep himself up and he doesn’t stop. He just keeps giggling and running in circles – through the living room, through the kitchen, into the hallway and back into the living room again.

 

On his third loop, he runs right into his uncle’s arms and he practically squeals with delight as Robb Stark hefts him up in his arms, belly down, and turns himself in a circle so the nearly three-year old is like an airplane, the boy laughing the whole time and Robb grinning.

 

Sansa Stark smiles as she reaches a hand out, brushing some of her son’s curls back. “We have to be on our best behavior, remember, Brandon?” She says to the boy and Brandon bobs his head up and down.

 

Robb turns Brandon upright in his arms. “Ah, he’s fine,” he says. “He’s excited and with good reason.”

 

“It’s not mine yet, Robb,” Sansa reminds her older brother in a murmured voice. She then goes after her dad, who has gone into the kitchen now that his inspection of the living room is done.

 

Ned Stark is standing at the sink, turning the faucet on and off, making sure that the water comes out alright. He then moves to turn on the overhead light and flips if off again before going to see how easily the windows slide up and down.

 

Sansa stands in the doorway, watching him, trying not to appear nervous. “What do you think?” She asks.

 

The agent has been standing outside for the past half hour, giving them a chance to walk around the house without her trailing after them.

 

This is Sansa’s third time viewing the house. The first time had just been by herself, curiously attending an open house while Brandon had been with her parents for the afternoon. The second time, she had brought Brandon to see what he thought of it – the toddler promptly plopping down on the floor in one of the two bedrooms and declaring it to be his. And the third time, she has brought her dad and brother.

 

While Sansa asks about the elementary school a block away for when Brandon is old enough to go and inquire about crime rates in the neighborhood, Ned and Robb think to ask about how old the roof and water tank are and when was the last time the electrical had been worked on.

 

Ned takes a moment to look around the kitchen one more time. It was a “flipped” house – new hardwood floors and appliances, new fixtures and windows. Sansa fell in love with it the first moment she saw it and even though she knows –without a doubt – that her parents love having both their daughter and grandson in their home with them, she doesn’t want to live with her mom and dad forever.

 

“It’s small,” is all Ned says at first.

 

And it is. It definitely is – especially when comparing it to the Stark house. This little house is a ranch and isn’t even 900 square feet, but there are two bedrooms and a fenced-in backyard for both Brandon and Lady to run around in. The neighborhood is quiet and Sansa can really start hers and her son’s life here.

 

Sansa gives her shoulders a little shrug. “It’s all the space Brandon and I need,” she comments.

 

“Hmmmm,” Ned says and then goes to peek inside of the refrigerator.

 

Sansa watches, nervous. She absolutely loves this house and it helps that she can actually afford it without going “house poor” anytime soon. She loves her parents. Love isn’t even a strong enough word. Her parents have been with her through every step of the way for the past couple of years – terrible years that she never wanted to live through again and yet, through all of the darkness, she had gotten Brandon and she knew she would go through it all over if it meant having him.

 

But it’s time she strikes out on her own. She’s twenty-five now and a mom. She can’t live at home forever.

 

Being in this house, it feels right.

 

Ned closes the refrigerator door. “Hmmmm,” he says once more. “Best you and me go speak with that realtor then,” he says simply and within an instant, Sansa has thrown her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug, hearing him chuckle and feeling him hug her back.

 

Sansa’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry so she does a combination of both.

 

…

 

She was twenty-one, a senior in college, and she met Ramsay Bolton at a party on campus.

 

She knew of the Bolton’s. They were one of the old families in the North and he made her laugh and when she talked, she felt like he was actually listening to her, his eyes always staring into hers and nowhere else. He wasn’t too bad to look at either – nothing like… well, he wasn’t too bad at all. No use in comparing him to anyone else who she used to see.

 

She hasn’t had the best luck in love, to say the least.

 

There had been Joffrey when she was a freshman in high school and he had been terrible, to put it lightly.

 

And then there had been Harry during her sophomore year in college and she admits that she had just been using Harry, trying to fill an emptiness in her chest that had been there for some time now, and they both knew they had absolutely nothing in common. He was sweet, but when their relationship had ended, neither had even thought to shed a tear over it.

 

Sansa knows that she had only been in love one time during her life. Truly in love. When she was a senior in high school and Jon Snow was a sophomore at Winterfell University. Jon Snow, the best friend of Robb and who had practically lived at their house for most of their youth, his single mother working all hours to try and provide Jon with everything. The Starks happily brought him into their fold and while Ned became like a father to him, Catelyn Stark became like another mother and any memory Sansa has of her childhood, Jon is always there, too.

 

Jon, who, one night he was sleeping over, stayed up with her while everyone else slept and patiently helped her with her calculus homework because she was on the verge of tears because she just couldn’t understand it. Jon, who reached over and gently took hold of her hand when they were all at the bowling alley one night and Joffrey had been there, too, with a group of his friends.

 

Jon, who kissed her and held her and whispered to her that he loved her. And she truly believed that he did and in return, she fell completely for him. She had always planned on attending Winterfell University as well, but now, she had daydreams of walking the campus, hand-in-hand with Jon, spending nights over at the flat he and Robb shared, studying with one another at the library… all the while falling even deeper in love and perhaps after her graduation, they could even talk about maybe getting engaged…

 

But Sansa should have known. She should have stopped herself from creating a ridiculous fairy tale. At first, Jon had suggested they keep their relationship a secret from everyone. He knew Robb and Arya would react poorly and he wasn’t sure how Ned and Catelyn would react if they found out. And at first, Sansa had agreed to keeping the secret, nervous about her family knowing as well, even though she was certain they would all come to get over it and accept it; once they saw how happy Sansa was with Jon.

 

As the months wore on, she began to realize that he was never going to be willing to tell. Sansa had wanted to just come right out and tell everyone, but Jon had always said that it wasn’t the right time and that he would be the one to tell Robb. He promised her. And it would be soon.

 

The afternoon he practically pushed her into the closet when Robb had come into Jon’s bedroom, looking for something, had finally been the thing for Sansa to realize that he was never going to tell anyone about them. He was going to keep her like she was some dirty little secret and he didn’t want anything more.

 

“Sansa, please,” Jon had pled with her, grasping her hands. “I’ll tell Robb. I promise you.”

 

Sansa had shaken her head, pulling her hands from his and cursing the tears that had insisted on building up in her eyes despite her best efforts. “You won’t.” She said it in a whisper, but her words were strong. “I know that now.”

 

And then she had left and if her heart wasn’t broken enough already, what completely shattered it was that he made no attempt to come after her and if there had been a smidgen of hope that Jon would tell Robb everything after she left and confess to being in love with his sister, that was completely squashed when she realized that Jon still never said a word to her brother.  

 

When she began spending time with Ramsay, she knew he was not going to be the one to fill the hole that Jon had left. She didn’t know if anything would ever fill it. The truth was – she knows – that Jon had taken her heart and had never given it back to her.

 

Ramsay wasn’t necessarily sweet. He was a little intense, to be honest, but Sansa told herself that Harry had been sweet and Jon had been sweet and what had being with a sweet man ever done for her?

 

She’s an idiot, of course, for thinking that and even a few years later, she still reminds herself of that – just in case there’s a day that goes by where she forgets that’s a true idiot.

 

Why would any girl actually _wish_ for a man in their life to hit them and _cut_ them?

 

Sansa doesn’t know why she stayed for so long – with Ramsay and the abuse he reigned down upon her. He had somehow convinced her that no one in her family would believe her if she told them and even if they did believe her, they wouldn’t care.

 

And maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe Ramsay was right. Maybe they would just be pleased that she was in a relationship with a man from the North. Maybe he really would be the only man to ever love her. Even as he beat her, he told her again and again that he loved her. And Sansa reminded herself of that when she spoke with Catelyn on the phone – an event that had now become infrequent for Ramsay liked to keep her all to himself – and she listened to her mom beg with her to come home for a visit.

 

Thinking back on her time with Ramsay, Sansa doesn’t understand why she stayed for so long. Nearly a year. She doesn’t understand why she thought that she deserved to live and be treated in such a way.

 

Her baby saved her life.

 

When the pregnancy test stick showed her two pink lines, Sansa stared at it for a moment and a moment was all she needed to make up her mind. Ramsay was at work and she packed a single bag of her things, leaving the rest behind, and she caught the soonest train for Wintertown.

 

The whole way, she was torn between worrying about Ramsay following her and worrying about the baby inside of her. How long had it been in there? She tried to think of the last time Ramsay gave her his fists. What if he had hurt the baby? Sansa had just found out she was to be a mother just a few hours before and already, she loved this baby more than anything and would do anything to keep them safe.

 

…

 

Ned Stark is an important man – not only in the North, but the whole of Westeros – and to this day, Sansa has no idea what he did or who he called or what he said, but Sansa knows that her mother had her stand in her bedroom – just the two of them – and silent tears roll down both their faces as Catelyn takes pictures of Sansa’s bruised, battered and scarred body. And once the pictures are taken, Catelyn takes Sansa in her arms and holds her for what feels like forever. Sansa isn’t sure when she breaks into tears, but she does and her mother holds her even longer.

 

Sansa still doesn’t know what her father did with the pictures or who he showed them to. Ned knew so many people – just as important as him – and when Ned came to her and told her that she would never see or hear from Ramsay Bolton again, Sansa had no reason to doubt him.

 

She is curious to know and yet, at the same time, she never asks.

 

Her son is born nearly eight months later and she names him Brandon – one of the oldest Stark names on their family’s extensive family tree – and he has blue eyes and auburn curls and he looks as if he doesn’t have a drop of Bolton blood in him. Thank the Gods.

 

“Thank the Gods you never married that prat,” Arya says more than once as she pulls faces at her nephew and plays with him on the floor as she always does when she comes home to visit every weekend.

 

The entire Stark family absolutely adores their newest addition. Brandon is such a happy baby and there’s nothing that Sansa loves more in this world.

 

Most times, Jon still comes over – for dinners or to stop by, waiting for Robb, before they go somewhere, and whenever he’s there, Sansa does everything she can to not even glance in his direction. She’s sure he knows all about Ramsay and what he had done to her. She knows that Robb would have told him. But she doesn’t think that Jon would actually care. He would be angry, of course. Jon is a good man and most men would be furious once hearing how another man had abused a woman. But angry for _her_? Sansa has never held her breath. Jon had had her once and he had made it clear to her that she wasn’t worth more than a few good private make-out sessions and her virginity.

 

She is so busy with Brandon and getting her life back on track, she has no time to dwell on Jon Snow, but sometimes, at night, when Brandon is sleeping soundly in his crib next to her bed, Sansa will lay there and think of him; how he would hold her tight in his arms as they laid in his bed and he whispered how much he loved her; how he had always been in love with her.

 

Sansa lays there and remembers how warm he always made her feel – even in the dead of a Northern winter. With Jon, she always felt like she was on fire.

 

…

 

Once papers of all matters are signed and the agent drops the keys into Sansa’s hand with a smile and congratulations, Sansa feels a rush of tears as she hugs her father once again.

 

Her very own house. _Her_ home. A home for her and her son.

 

The next day, with Brandon in her arms, balanced on her hip, she walks through the rooms with Catelyn, eager to hear her mom’s opinion as this is the first time Catelyn is seeing it.

 

Catelyn is smiling by the time she views all of the house’s rooms, which doesn’t take her much time at all. Back in the living room, she looks to Sansa. “Where are you going to put your sewing machine?” She asks.

 

Sansa has already been thinking of that, to be honest.

 

Sansa is a librarian in the library on Winterfell University’s campus. She had gotten her college degree in library sciences and it’s an amazing job for her to have; the university having wonderful health insurance and an on-campus daycare center where she can take Brandon each day.

 

But sewing has always been her true passion. She loves to create her own clothes and many of Brandon’s outfits are those that she has made for him herself. Catelyn has said more than once that Sansa could design a line of toddler clothes and they would fly from the shelves. Sansa knows that Catelyn is just saying that because she’s her mom.

 

“There’s that small shed out back,” Sansa answers. “Maybe out there? Make my own little workshop?”

 

Catelyn frowns at that. “And you’ll freeze to death in the winter. No, we’ll think of something. Maybe we can ask Jon for his opinion,” she says as she goes to collect her purse where she has left it on one of the counters in the kitchen. “I’ve brought paint chips. Let’s see what we have!”

 

Jon is a contractor who owns his own small business and Sansa knows that he would be able to build her the most perfect workspace in the span of a day; if she asks him.

 

“But I won’t ask him, will I, Brandon?” She whispers to her son and Brandon just gives her a smile and she smiles, too, kissing him on the head before following after her mom.

 

…

 

Robb, Arya and Bran have all volunteered to help her paint the rooms. Rickon would have helped, too, but both Ned and Catelyn agree that he is still too young to actually help and would probably just create more problems. Rickon had been outright offended at that – until Catelyn said that they would take him out for pizza – to the pizzeria with the arcade. Brandon had gone off with them as well for the night so they wouldn’t have to worry about having a toddler roll himself around in paint.

 

“A painting party!” Sansa beams excitedly as she and Arya lay sheets down on the floor so no paint will get onto the wood.

 

“Sounds like a terrible party,” Arya comments dryly, but it’s obvious that she’s trying not to smile.

 

In the living room, they have decided on a simple eggshell white so Sansa can decorate as she pleases. Same in the kitchen. In her bedroom though, they are going to paint three walls the eggshell and the fourth would be a light yellow – her favorite color. The small bathroom – with the new bathtub, toilet, sink and cabinet as well as a new tiled floor – will have three eggshell walls and the fourth will be grey.

 

“And what about this one?” Bran asks from the doorway as Sansa stands in the second bedroom, Brandon’s bedroom, and she is still placing paint chips against one of the walls, still trying to make a final decision.

 

“I can’t make up my mind,” Sansa says with a sigh. “I don’t want to give it such a strong blue, but he does love blue. What if that changes though? He’s only three.”

 

“Well, if he starts hating blue, we can just repaint it,” Bran says diplomatically.

 

“I guess,” Sansa sighs again, her mind still not made up.

 

The doorbell rings then followed by Robb’s shout of “Dinner’s here!”

 

Bran leaves then, but Sansa remains in the bedroom, moving onto the paint chips with shades of green. She can hear her brothers and sister in the kitchen, laughing and chattering, and Sansa feels her own stomach growl with hunger, but she can’t tear herself away yet. Brandon has never had his own room before and she wants this to be absolutely perfect for him.

 

A throat clears from the doorway then and Sansa can’t help, but stiffen slightly, more than aware of who is there now.

 

Seeing Jon is unavoidable. She knows that. He’s Robb’s best friend, another brother to Arya, Bran and Rickon, another son to Ned and Catelyn. He’s always been there and he always will be. It has been years though since she, herself, has actually had a conversation with him besides a few polite words said in passing when there are others around.  

 

The last time they had truly spoken to one another, she had walked away from him at the end of it and he had not said a word to stop her and get her back.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath and turns towards the doorway. Sure enough, it’s Jon. He stands there in his dark jeans and a plain black tee-shirt and his hair is pulled back into his man-bun.

 

She hates how handsome she still thinks him to be.

 

He’s holding a plate of pizza in his hand. “I, uh, wanted to make sure you got some before Robb and Arya inhale it all.”

 

Sansa looks at the pizza being offered. Mushroom and green pepper – her favorite.

 

“Thank you, but I’m not that hungry,” she lies and turns her back to him once more. She places another paint chip to the wall. No. Definitely not green. She sighs again.

 

Maybe she should just leave the walls white and be done with it.

 

But no. Her son can’t have a white bedroom.

 

“What are the options?” Jon asks suddenly, appearing beside her and making her jump slightly.

 

She’s not the best at having someone sneak up behind her anymore.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs to her, but Sansa just stares at the wall in front of her and shakes her head and tries to get her heart back to beating normally once again.

 

She wants to be mad at Robb for having invited Jon though Sansa isn’t surprised at all that he did. And she can’t get mad at Robb because Robb won’t understand why Sansa doesn’t want Jon around her and it’s been too long now to go into anything about what she and Jon shared once upon another lifetime ago. She just wishes, after all of this time, she could just forget it completely like Jon clearly has.

 

“Um,” Sansa speaks, remembering that he had asked her a question. She considers not saying anything else, but Jon _is_ a contractor and his eye might be better at picking paint colors than her siblings. “I can’t decide. This is going to be Brandon’s room and he loves blue, but I don’t know if I should force blue on him. What if he starts liking orange in a few years?”

 

“You can always paint over paint,” Jon comments in that quiet voice of his. “May I?”

 

He holds out his hand and Sansa sees that he has put the plate of pizza down. After another moment, she hands him the paint chips, making sure her fingers don’t touch his. She can’t even look at his face, to be honest. It has been too long since she has stood this close to him and she’s feeling too warm.

 

Jon takes a moment, looking over the choices, before he picks one. “What do you think of this one?” He asks, holding it against the white of the wall.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes to what he has chosen. For a moment, she thinks it’s black, but after a minute of close inspection, she sees that it’s the darkest shade of blue. Almost black, but not quite. It reminds her of the sky in the North in the winter time – when the sun has set, but night hasn’t yet fully settled in.

 

“It’s perfect,” she hears herself breathe as she keeps staring at the color.

 

This color is _home_.

 

Finally, she turns her head and makes her eyes meet Jon’s. She almost takes a step back when she sees that he’s already looking at her. She is still so familiar with those eyes, she realizes. She still remembers those eyes perfectly, looking down as his body moved on top of hers. For a time, she had thought she would look into those eyes for the rest of her life.

 

“Thank you, Jon,” she says before turning away again. There is a burning in her chest that she almost lifts her hand to rub away, but instead, she rubs her palms on the thighs of her jeans. “I should go eat,” she then tells him in a rush just as he opens his mouth to say something and she turns to walk away, hoping she’s not walking as quickly from the room, and away from him, as she actually wants to.

 

…

 

 


	2. Two

…

 

**Two.**

With the new paint fumes so strong in the house, Sansa leaves the windows open a crack and return to her parents’ house for the night to sleep. Arya, who lives in Torrhen’s Square with her boyfriend, Gendry, decides to spend the night, too, and though both Robb and Jon still just live in Wintertown, they decide to crash over, too, and Catelyn just loves having such a full house again, already making plans to make a big breakfast the next morning. Bran is the only one who heads back to his home, also in Wintertown, where he lives with his fiancée, Meera, having to get to work early the next morning – working for a tech company and Bran often goes into the office on the weekends to work on codes when no one else is around to bother him.

 

“How was he?” Sansa asks as she lifts Brandon up from the floor in the den where he is sitting, playing with some of his toys, as Ned sits on the floor with him, dividing his attention between his grandson and the rugby match on the television.

 

Brandon gives his mama a wide smile and instantly falls heavily into her chest, resting his head on her shoulder. Sansa smiles as she holds and hugs him close.

 

“Good as always,” Ned says with a smile as he stands up as well. “How was the painting party?” He asks the others as they come into the den as well, Robb having made a stop in the kitchen and is now handing Jon and Arya bottles of Coke and keeping one for himself.

 

“Terrible, but at least we’re almost done,” Arya answers as she flops down on the couch, but she doesn’t mean it. “Sansa finally picked the color for Brandon’s bedroom, but since we have to go to the store to get the paint, it’s the only room we didn’t finish yet.”

 

“I can handle it,” Sansa tells them all. “We already painted the three walls the eggshell. It’s just one more wall. I can handle one more wall myself. You all have already done more than enough for me.”

 

As Ned catches Robb and Arya up on the match, Sansa steps off to the side and begins humming a soft song in Brandon’s ear as she rubs his back up and down and slowly sways herself back and forth. He is already in his pajamas and he smells like baby powder. She needs to thank her mom for giving him his bath already though Sansa hates that she missed bath time. Her son may have a Bolton father – sperm donor, really – but there’s not a drop of it in him. Brandon is all Stark – except when he’s in the bathtub. Then, the Tully genes come out and he splashes and laughs in the water and never wants to come out.

 

Her long hair is in a braid that evening, pulled over her shoulder, and she smiles to herself as Brandon curls his little fingers around the end of it; not tugging on it, but just holding on.

 

“Are you ready for bed, sweetling?” Sansa asks him softly. “I definitely think I am.”

 

She kisses Brandon’s forehead and the boy presses it tiredly against her jaw.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes then to look at the others in the room and she almost gasps when her eyes seem to immediately meet Jon’s. He is sitting on the couch with Arya, but instead of watching the rugby match like the others, he’s instead watching Sansa.

 

And when Jon sees that she sees him watching her, he quickly turns his head back to the television as if he’s not being obvious while the only thing he’s actually being _is_ obvious. Sansa quickly turns her head away, too. She doesn’t like when Jon looks at her and wishes he wouldn’t. She has caught him too many times to count over the past few years – ever since she came home after fleeing from Ramsay. And the way Jon always looks at her, he’s not looking at her like a man who casually looks at someone else in the same vicinity as them.

 

Jon looks at her like how a man looks at a woman he wants.

 

And Sansa can almost hate him for that. Almost. She wishes she could remind him that he _had_ had her before he decided that she wasn’t worth it. She doesn’t blame him for Ramsay. That would be completely ridiculous and unfair of her. It’s not Jon’s fault that she has made such terrible life decisions. Besides, Jon had trampled on her heart four years before she met Ramsay. What he did – or didn’t do – had nothing to do with Sansa being stupid and weak and pathetic.

 

It’s such a tangled mess of things though because if Jon hadn’t dropped her like he had, if she hadn’t met Ramsay and began a relationship with him, she wouldn’t be standing here, right at this moment, with Brandon dozing in her arms. And Brandon is both the best thing that has ever happened to her and the best thing she has ever done.

 

She has thought – more than once – what it would have been like if Brandon was Jon’s son. Maybe Brandon’s curly hair would be black instead of auburn. Jon would be there to help with bath time and potty-training and trying to get Brandon to take a nap when it’s the absolute last thing he wants to do. Jon would have been with her through everything. They would have been a team. Maybe… maybe they would be married and maybe, now that Brandon is almost three, they’d be planning on or even already trying for a second.

 

Sansa wants to hate Jon for so many things, but she can never seem to be able to bring herself to.

 

She wonders if she hates herself a little for that.

 

“I’m going to take this little one upstairs to bed,” Sansa tells everyone in the room. “I can’t thank you enough for all of your help with everything.”

 

Ned, Rob and Arya all say good-night to Sansa and Brandon – Jon not saying anything as he stares at the television and nothing else – and Sansa leaves the room, carrying Brandon up the stairs. She can feel his breathing against her skin and hear it getting deeper as he slips closer to being completely asleep.

 

Rickon’s bedroom is at the top of the stairs and peeking inside, she sees her youngest brother standing in front of his television, a controller in his hands, playing one of his video games.

 

“Good night, Rickon,” Sansa says to him.

 

“Brandon asleep?” Rickon asks.

 

“Just about.”

 

Sansa smiles as Rickon instantly pauses the game to mute the television before resuming playing.

 

“Good night, Sansa,” he says without peeling his eyes away from the action on the screen.

 

Down the hall, in her bedroom, Sansa gives Brandon a kiss on the head and then other, making sure the diaper he wears to sleep in is still dry before gently laying him down in the crib that is beside her bed. Lady – her Siberian Husky and a present from her parents when she had finally come home – was asleep on the bed and when Sansa entered, she kept her head down, but her tail thumped against the mattress.

 

“Good night, my Little Stark,” Sansa smiles down to her son as she covers him with his blanket and makes sure the stuffed wolf he sleeps with every night is at his side.

 

Brandon is sleeping deeply now and doesn’t even stir. Sansa smiles faintly as she watches him for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest; loving how peacefully he sleeps, knowing that he is completely safe and loved.

 

Sansa goes to the door then and closes it, keeping the lights off. She hasn’t shut her window blinds and the moon is bright enough to shine through and give her just enough light to see as she moves around. Besides, she prefers to get dresses and undressed when she can’t really take the time to study her body.

 

She had heard from so many people over the course of her life that she was so beautiful; some even going as far as to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

 

No one would dare tell her something like that now. Not after Ramsay.

 

He had never cut her face, but the rest of her body had not been spared. The tiny scars all over her torso, back and thighs riddle her body and they will never go away. They will always be there; staring at her each time she changes clothes. She’s not beautiful anymore – that’s for sure. Her entire life is consumed with Brandon right now, but in a few years, when he’s a bit older and she can start even considering going on a date with a man again, she knows that she won’t. What man will ever want her?

 

She changes from her clothes quickly into a warm pair of fleece pajama pants and a heavy sweatshirt, covering any inch of her body that might expose too much of what she doesn’t want anyone to see.

 

She keeps her door closed and checks on Brandon one more time before crawling into bed herself. Lady instantly moves herself so she’s stretched out along Sansa and once Sansa gets herself beneath the covers, she rolls onto her side and buries her face into the dog’s soft fur.

 

The tears come then and she doesn’t stop as they leak quickly and heatedly down her cheeks. Her chest feels so hollow, it almost hurts and her mom is still awake in her own bedroom, right down the hall, and Sansa wants to go to her right now and be held as she cries, but if she does, Catelyn will be up for the rest of the night, worried, and she has already worried more about Sansa to last a lifetime. Both of her parents have and they don’t need anything else piled onto them. Sansa can’t do that to them anymore.

 

She has made choices and now, she is the one who has to live with these choices and she alone.

 

She cries into Lady’s fur, making sure she does it quietly so Brandon – and no one else – can hear her.

 

She swears that she hears the floorboard out in the hallway, right on the other side of her door, creak and she manages to keep herself quiet for a moment as she decides if someone is there or not. But everything is quiet and fresh tears burn Sansa’s eyes before sliding down her cheeks and her face is buried in the side of Lady’s neck once more.

 

Her body trembles and she wishes – more than anything – that in that moment, she has someone who can hold her as she cries, but she doesn’t. She has Lady and she has Brandon and that’s enough.

 

It has to be.

 

…

 

Catelyn comes into her bedroom around dawn to get Lady to let her outside into the backyard and to take Brandon.

 

“No, mom, I got him,” Sansa says, sitting up and still half asleep.

 

“Shhh,” Catelyn says and ignores her as she gently picks up her grandson. “Go back to sleep.”

 

And with that, she leaves, Lady jumping off the bed to follow after her, and Sansa tells herself to get up and go downstairs to help her mom with Brandon and with breakfast, but instead, her eyes grow heavy and before she can stop herself, her head drops down onto her pillow and she falls back asleep.

 

When she wakes again, the bedroom is a bit lighter and she looks to the clock on the nightstand. Just a little bit past seven. She tells herself that she has gotten more than enough sleep and it’s time to get up and face another day.

 

She notes almost immediately how quiet the house is.

 

She goes to the bathroom and washes her hands and face, brushes her teeth and combs her hair out, letting it tumble down her back. Since its Sunday morning, she decides to leave her pajamas on for a bit longer, simply pulling on thick wool socks before finally heading downstairs.

 

She hears Brandon’s laughter before she sees him and already smiling upon hearing the sound, Sansa enters the kitchen. Brandon is sitting in his high chair at the table, Cheerios strewn out on his tray – Lady on the floor, happily crunching on any he drops – and Jon is sitting in the chair in front of him.  Catelyn is standing at the kitchen island, stirring something in a bowl and watching the scene with her own smile.

 

“Alright. Now, are you sure you want to hit again? Because you already have an even forty,” Jon is saying.

 

“Hit!” Brandon exclaims, slapping a hand down onto his tray.

 

Jon lets out a chuckle. “Good play, Little Stark,” Jon says as he turns a playing card from the deck onto the tray, on top of the small pile already there. “You now have… forty-seven. Well, you definitely beat me. I only got an even twenty-one.”

 

Sansa smiles as she watches. She can’t help it. This isn’t the first interaction Jon has ever had with her son and she can’t help, but admit that he’s quite good with him.

 

Brandon had been about a month old and had been in a terrible mood, crying for hours on end for no apparent reason, and Sansa – after a few hours – began crying, too, with exhaustion and frustration and fears that she was a shit mom already. She hadn’t wanted anyone to help her. Brandon was her baby and she should be the one who got him to stop crying.

 

Eventually, Brandon had passed out, having completely exhausted himself, and Sansa had all, but collapsed down onto the couch, falling asleep herself. She didn’t know how long she slept, but her brain began to wake itself up when she heard a soft shushing. She forced her eyes open to see what that was and what she saw made her go completely still on the couch.

 

It was Jon. He didn’t know she was awake as he gently held Brandon in his arms, rocking him back and forth as he made a circle around the room.

 

“You have to be quiet, Little Stark,” he was saying to the baby in a hushed voice and Sansa had to close her eyes at the sound of his deep, gentle voice and hearing that he has given her son a nickname. “Your mom needs her sleep because although she loves you more than anything, you’re driving her crazy. She’ll never say it, of course. Your mom’s the best woman in the world and it’s our job to take care of her. And one of those ways is letting her sleep. You’ll have me in the meantime if you need anything and I’m a bit of a mess-up, but I’m not the worst person in the world to change your nappy if that’s what you need.”

 

And then, after another moment of quiet, she hears Jon’s next words.

 

“You have your mom’s eyes.”

 

“Hit!” Brandon says again and Jon is grinning as he flips another card over. “Mama!” Brandon then exclaims when he sees Sansa in the doorway and both Jon and Catelyn instantly turn their heads to see that Sansa is, in fact, standing there.

 

“Good morning,” she greets them – mainly her mom and Brandon – with a smile and she comes around to the table to Brandon. She bends down and smoothing a hand over his curls, she gives him a kiss on his head. “Are you having fun with Jon?” She asks him, keeping her eyes on Brandon, able to feel Jon’s eyes on her. She has gotten so well over the past few years to not look at him.

 

She doesn’t need to see that he’s wearing pajama pants, too, and a stupid black Henley with the buttons undone and the sleeves pushed to his elbows and wool socks also on his feet. She doesn’t need to see his hair and know that his curls are in disarray as they usually are in the mornings.

 

“Hit!” Brandon exclaims again and Jon chuckles and Sansa smiles before giving him another kiss on the head before moving towards the coffee machine on the counter.

 

“Fifty-two,” Jon tells him and Brandon laughs as if this is the best game in the world.

 

“Where is everyone?” Sansa asks her mom as she pulls a mug down from the cabinet.

 

“Your father is still sleeping, if you can believe that,” Catelyn replies. “And Arya was disgusted that I only have no-pulp orange juice so she has gone to the market and has dragged Robb and Rickon with her.”

 

Sansa just smiles as she stirs in cream and sugar into the coffee before holding the mug between both hands and taking a sip.

 

She agrees with Arya, to be honest. Oranges have pulp. What do the factories have to do to remove every little bit of pulp trace from the juice? It’s not natural. She won’t tell her mom that, though. Pulp and no-pulp orange juice is one of those things that could divide a family.

 

“Alright, Brandon,” Jon is saying and Sansa goes back to watching them. “I have officially gone through the entire deck. You win, Little Stark.”

 

Brandon giggles as if he understands perfectly and Jon stands up with a smile. He bends down then as if he is going to kiss Brandon on the head and Sansa feels herself go still in her spot. And then, it is as if he realizes what he is about to because Jon abruptly stops himself. He stands up straight again and takes his coffee mug, carrying it to the counter.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs to Sansa and she shakes her head, stepping aside so he could get a refill.

 

“It’s alright,” she says to him, just as quietly. “He knows you.”

 

She tries to ignore how he smells like snow and pine trees or how good he looks in that Henley.

 

Jon nods his head to that and doesn’t say anything. With his mug of coffee – keeping it black as he always does – he returns to the table. He takes his chair and turns it away from Brandon so he is no longer facing Brandon and he sits down, sipping his coffee and spreading the newspaper out in front of him.

 

Sansa sips her own coffee and then turns, sliding it onto the counter behind her. She then looks to Catelyn and gives her the brightest smile she can manage, ignoring the sharpness in her chest at how completely _domestic_ this all feels. Jon, playing with Brandon, and Brandon loving every second of it on a Sunday morning where they are about to eat a big family breakfast.

 

“Do you need any help, mom?” Sansa asks.

 

“Yes,” Catelyn smiles, grateful for the offer. “I have blueberries in the refrigerator and chocolate chips in the cupboard. I think I’ll make two kinds of pancakes this morning.”

 

As Sansa is gathering the things needed, they hear the front door open and Arya, Robb and Rickon come into the kitchen, bringing the cold in with them momentarily before the warm heat of the Stark house chases it away and they begin peeling back their layers.

 

“We have returned with proper orange juice,” Arya informs them all.

 

“Here, Jon,” Robb says and plunks a box of cigarettes down in front of Jon.

 

“Thanks. There’s money in my wallet upstairs,” he says and then takes the cigs, slipping them beneath the paper as if he doesn’t want Brandon to see them; as if the baby has any idea what they are.

 

Robb rolls his eyes, as if offended that Jon would even offer to pay him back.

 

Sansa pretends to not be paying attention as she takes stirring the batter over for Catelyn and begins mixing the chocolate chips in. She hasn’t know that Jon had begun smoking again. He had quit whilst in college. She had made a comment to him once about licking ashtrays.

 

_“You want me to quit?” Jon asked after she said it._

_Sansa had blushed a little and shaken her head. “You’re a grown man, Jon. You can smoke if you want to.”_

_Jon studied her for a moment. “But you don’t like kissing me if I’m smoking?”_

_“Jon,” Sansa said with a laugh and she shook her head, smiling at him as he stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her until her body was flush against his._

_As he began pressing kisses along the side of her neck, she felt him reach behind her and she then laughed as she watched as he grabbed his box of cigarettes and tossed it blindly towards the trashcan._

“I thought you quit smoking because you said girls didn’t like kissing smokers,” Rickon says, plopping down in the seat across the table from him, still looking half asleep and Sansa wonders if Arya had tugged him literally from his bed to go to the market. He probably got a candy bar out of it though.

 

Jon just shrugs and doesn’t say anything.

 

“Well, obviously Val doesn’t care about that,” Arya says with the slightest laugh.

 

“Val?” Sansa says the name before she can stop herself.

 

She pauses in her stirring to look at her sister; well aware of Jon looking at her right now, able to feel his eyes, but she doesn’t want to look at him. She’s already looked at him far too much this morning.

 

“A girl he’s dating,” Arya answers. “And it’s about time, too. It’s been… what? _Years_ since the last time you went out on a date.”

 

Jon stays silent.

 

Val. A girl he’s dating.

 

Sansa has those words repeating in her head and she wished that they would just stop.

 

So he’s dating someone. He ended things between them literally _years_ ago. She’s had a son since then. Jon can obviously date or see whomever he wants. It’s not like they have any ties to one another. Jon can shove his tongue into anyone’s mouth for as much as Sansa cares.

 

She also tells herself this on repeat in as strong an inner voice as she can muster.

 

“Sansa, Brandon smells like shit,” Rickon then breaks through her thoughts.

 

“Rickon,” Catelyn scolds him with a frown.

 

“Well, he does!”

 

 _Thank God_ , Sansa says to herself, more than ready to get out of that kitchen. “Robb,” she says her brother’s name and pushes the bowl of batter towards him and Robb nods, taking over stirring duties without complaint as Sansa heads over to collect Brandon.

 

Jon stands up and hoists Brandon up from his chair, Brandon giving Jon a grin as if he is quite pleased with the stench coming from him, and Jon smiles a little, too.

 

Sansa takes Brandon from his arms, still not even sparing Jon even the quickest of glances.

 

“Brandon Eddard Stark,” she says in a scold she doesn’t truly mean. “What is the point of trying to begin to potty-train you if you won’t even attempt to let me know that you have to go to the potty?” She asks him as she carries him from the room, heading upstairs to get him cleaned up again.

 

“I remember when your dad and I were trying to potty-train you, Robb,” she hears Catelyn tell the others. “You were nearly five-years-old before you got the hang of it. Your dad was convinced we would have to try and find diapers suitable for teenagers.”

 

“Christ, mom,” Robb groans as the others break into loud laughter at that.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't possibly say thank you enough to those who left kudos and comments! Thank you so, so much! I'm still debating whether or not to write Jon's POV or tell this story solely from Sansa's POV.


	3. Three

…

 

**Three.**

Sansa holds Brandon in her arms so they are face-to-face. “You are going to be good for Shae today?” She asks her son and smiles when Brandon immediately bobs his head up and down.

 

“Yep!” The little toddler exclaims.

 

“And you aren’t going to throw your applesauce today?” Sansa asks.

 

“Nope!” Brandon exclaims this time and Sansa laughs, leaning in and kissing his cheek.

 

“You have a wonderful day, sweetling, and I’ll come see you for lunch in a few hours,” Sansa promises.

 

Her heart melts slightly in her chest when Brandon leans forward and wraps his arms around her neck, hugging her tightly as an almost three-year-old can hug, and Sansa closes her eyes, hugging him in return, knowing that she will see him in just five hours, but having a hard time letting go nonetheless.

 

No one hugs her like her son.

 

“I love you, Brandon,” she whispers into her son’s ear.

 

She always is trying to think of something to say to him that is more than that because yes, while she loves him – loves him so dearly and fiercely – there has to be something more than love. There has to be a word greater than that for how a mother loves her child.

 

“Love you, mama,” Brandon says back and Sansa smiles, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“I’ll take him, Sansa,” Shae, the woman who runs the daycare center on Winterfell University’s campus, smiles and Sansa nods, giving Brandon one more kiss – this one on his head – before bending down and putting him on his feet. “Did you make this one, too? It is adorable,” Shae says as she holds out her hand and Brandon happily reaches up and takes hold of it.

 

“Thank you. This one loves his hoodies,” Sansa smiles, bending down and tugging down Brandon’s hooded sweatshirt that had ridden up.

 

She had been able to finish Brandon’s latest clothes the night before – another pair of blue jeans and a green tee-shirt, layered beneath a grey hooded sweatshirt with an embroidery of a wolf on the back in the green to match the tee. The green tee has the same wolf embroidery on the back, done in gray.

 

“You need to do more than lose yourself in those dusty books,” Shae comments.

 

“I love those dusty books,” Sansa smiles. “See you in a few hours.”

 

She turns to leave, knowing she only has a few minutes every morning to say goodbye to Brandon when she drops him off; knowing that otherwise, she’ll never want to leave him.

 

“Bye, mama!” Brandon calls out after her.

 

Sansa, still walking, turns and gives him a bright smile and wave. “Bye, Brandon!” She calls back.

 

The University’s campus is usually quiet at this hour – just a few minutes before seven and the first wave of morning classes not beginning until eight. There are just a few other members of staff walking into one academic building or another and early-morning maintenance crews laying down salt on the sidewalks to prevent slips and falls from the ice that had frozen over the night before.

 

The daycare center is attached to the Education Building with a playground for them built right outside, fenced in, that they can play on when it is warmer out. Definitely not today though.

 

The Library is just two buildings down and Sansa is the second to arrive. Nan, the Head Librarian, is there, first, as she is every other morning. Nan is an old woman; some saying that she’s as old as the nearly three-hundred year old University itself, and Nan is aware of what is said and takes it all in stride; even embracing her nickname of Old Nan with a smile and laughter.

 

Sansa absolutely adores her. Nan had hired Sansa two years earlier – well aware that she was a new mom with a new baby – but she recognized that Sansa would be good at this job and Sansa likes to show her every single day that she had made the right decision in hiring her. Nan is the epitome of someone’s grandmother – always drinking mint tea and has an endless amount of butterscotch hard-candies in her purse. She also gives no-nonsense advice to anyone who asks and it’s the kind of advice that people don’t want to hear, but it’s always the advice that people _need_ to hear.

 

“Good morning,” Sansa smiles as she steps behind the front desk.

 

“Good morning, dear,” Nan smiles in return as she is booting up all of the computers.

 

The Library is one of the largest buildings on campus and right now, it is completely empty. It’s Sansa’s favorite time of day, to be honest. Work can be stressful more times than not and this early hour, she feels, is the only time all day she’s able to just breathe.

 

After going into the back office that the librarians all share to drop off her coat and purse, Sansa comes back out, immediately taking the cart and pushing it to the front lobby where there is a drop-off box where students can drop off their due books after Library hours.

 

After unlocking it, she begins unloading the books, all the heaviest and oldest in the Library’s collection. Several history courses had had large research papers over the past week and the Library has been flooded with students as they all prepared for their various due dates. Once the cart is empty, it is now seven o’clock on the dot and Sansa then goes to the front doors, unlocking the doors with another key on her ring. And it seems as if no sooner that she does that, several students begin streaming in, some draining the last drops from their paper coffee cups or eating the last crumbs of their muffins since no food or drinks are allowed inside.

 

Returning to behind the main desk, Sansa then begins her morning task of checking all of the books from the cart back into the system before returning the books to the shelves. It is a task that will probably take her all morning, but that’s alright. It’s almost boring in how Sansa is able to do it with her eyes closed, but again, that’s alright. It helps pass the time and really, Sansa admits it to herself, if she’s busy with mind-numbing work, it will be noon before she knows it and she can go see Brandon for her lunch break.

 

“So, tell me all about the new house,” Nan says as she scans over the emails she has received over the weekend. Professors will often email Nan, requesting one book or another for the Library to purchase several copies of for their students for one of their classes.

 

Sansa smiles instantly just at the thought of it. “My brothers and sister and I had a painting party this weekend,” she tells her.

 

“I absolutely love painting parties,” Nan smiles, too. “I always make this punch. Painting Party Punch. The key is the amount of vodka I pour in.”

 

“I should have asked you to help then instead of Arya,” Sansa laughs slightly. “And my mother and I are going to begin furniture shopping tonight after work. My parents have some pieces they can give me, and I will gladly take anything, but…”

 

“But you want to get your own furniture for your own home,” Nan concludes correctly.

 

“Exactly,” Sansa nods in confirmation.

 

The inner doors open and a small group of people enter – mostly men – and the President of the University, Davos Seaworth, is at the head. Sansa looks to the group curiously and when she does, she completely freezes. It’s like seeing something so out of place in a place that you are so used to. Like seeing one of your teachers in a grocery store and you’re always so surprised to see them outside of school; surprised to see that they buy groceries, too.

 

Jon Snow is not supposed to be in Winterfell University’s Library, but there he is.

 

Why on Earth, of all of the places in all of Westeros, is Jon Snow in _her_ Library right now?

 

Jon looks at her, sees her looking at him, and he quickly looks to the papers in his hands. There are two men standing with him in the group and she recognizes them as Tormund Giantsbane and Edd Tollett. Both men work for Jon’s contracting company.

 

She then remembers. It’s the explanation as to why all of these men – why Jon – are in the Llibrary. The University has passed a budget for the Library to receive some renovations and today, this morning, is the walk through for the contractors interested in the project to come and take a look at the work needed done before putting together their bids. Nan had sent an email about it last week.

 

“Good morning, ladies,” Davos comes up to the desk and smiles at them both.

 

Despite the shock of seeing Jon this early in the morning, in a place he’s definitely not supposed to be, Sansa finds herself smiling at the older man. Davos Seaworth is a very kind man if only a little gruff at times. Sansa has always thought that he perhaps is _too_ kind to be in such an important position. Sansa has seen it throughout her life. People in positions of power oftentimes have to be a little cruel to stay there. She just can't imagine Davos ever being like that. 

 

“I promise, we will be as quiet as possible,” Davos swears.

 

“Do you need someone to come with you?” Nan suggests. “Sansa, do you mind?” She then asks before Sansa’s mind can even register. But then she sees that Davos is smiling at her and Nan is her boss, but Davos is the University President, therefore, he’s everyone’s boss and Sansa can’t refuse either of them.

 

“Of course,” Sansa manages a small smile.

 

She makes sure to look to Davos and nowhere else – certainly not Jon – as she comes out from behind the desk; even though as she walks, she is well aware of the fact that Jon is behind her, somewhere in the group, following behind her.

 

She leads them down the stairs to the lower level, where the English books are. “Um, as you can see, it’s a bit darker down here than the rest of the Library due to no windows,” Sansa says, speaking more to Davos than anyone else. “And we have caught more than two students taking advantage of that.”

 

A few of the men snicker and Davos clears his throat as if embarrassed.

 

“Yes, well, that’s why we’re doing this,” Davos looks to the men. “So, lighting is really our main concern. Something bright, but not too bright, and of course, something that is energy efficient and won’t send our electricity bills through the roof.”

 

Sansa stands off to the side as the men break into small groups after that, all talking with one another in low voices, making notes to themselves. Sansa can’t help, but watch Jon with Tormund and Edd. Edd is holding some kind of device and he holds it up to one of the lights running along the ceiling, pressing a button and then bringing it down to see what the reading is. He reads it off to Jon, who nods and writes it down, before he takes a few steps away, his head tilted upwards, looking at the current lighting.

 

Sansa tells herself not to, but of course, she can’t help herself. She justifies it to herself by reminding herself that Jon is always watching her. It’s her turn to watch him for once. Besides, it’s just watching. There’s no harm in just watching someone.

 

Of course, Sansa is well aware of the harm. This is _Jon_. Watching him always gives her an ache in her chest that hurts and an ache between her legs that she’s always embarrassed about.

 

He’s wearing dark jeans, a little tight around his legs, work boots and his winter coat. He has unzipped it and Sansa can see that he’s wearing his company’s tee-shirt; a plain black thing with _Snow Construction_ on the left breast side.

 

Sansa has always silently thought that she could design something much better, but of course, she has never offered.

 

His hair is pulled back into its man-bun this morning and she knows that he wears his hair back while working and she’s grateful for that. Honestly, she hates it when he wears his hair free; hates seeing the black curls that for a time, her fingers had been so familiar with running through. Just thinking of the way he used to guide her hands to his head and always murmured to her to hold on before he dipped his face between her thighs, Sansa feels her face on fire now and she’s grateful for the poor lighting.

 

Does he think of her at all?

 

She hates herself for wondering that question.

 

“Hello, beautiful.”

 

Sansa turns her head and then tilts it up when she sees the height of the man next to her. “Hello, Tormund,” she says with a slight smile. He has been over to her parents’ house a few times – when he, Edd and Jon have been working late and Catelyn insists on them coming over so she can feed them dinner.

 

“When are you going to let me take you out to lunch?” He asks and Sansa can’t help, but laugh softly.

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees Jon – speaking with Edd – lift his head at the sound and look to her. Sansa keeps looking up at Tormund though. She is not trying to make Jon jealous. Why would she waste her time? She already know that nothing she does will ever make Jon Snow jealous. And more importantly, _why_ would she want to make him jealous? He’s just her brother’s best friend. Nothing more.

 

“I always tell you, Tormund,” Sansa says to the taller red-headed man. “I have a lunch date every day with a red-head who’s far more handsome than you.”

 

Tormund slaps a hand over his heart as if her words have wounded him and Sansa laughs again. Jon, talking with Edd, stops to once again, look over at them.

 

“You wound me, Sansa Stark. Bring your little boy along. I love children and children love me,” Tormund tells her. “Children are very good at reading the truth in people. You know that.”

 

“I’m sure they love you, Tormund, because they recognize one of their own,” Sansa teases.

 

Tormund cracks his own grin at her.

 

“Tormund.”

 

Both Sansa and Tormund turn their heads to see Jon approaching, frowning at Tormund.

 

“Edd needs you,” Jon tells him; not looking at Sansa.

 

“Sure thing, boss,” Tormund says, still grinning. “Sansa, till we meet again, my lovely.”

 

Sansa feels herself blush even though Tormund’s flirting is teasing and nothing more – Tormund flirts with any female – and she certainly has no feelings towards him. Still, it makes her feel nice when a man – who she knows is a nice man – says nice things to her.

 

She expects Jon to walk off with them, but instead, he remains standing there, in front of her.

 

Sansa admits that she has no idea what to say to him. There have been daydreams over the past few years of what she would say to Jon Snow. Some include a lot of yelling and screaming and calling him every name under the sun. Others include grabbing him and kissing him until neither of them can breathe. Usually the daydreams involve somewhat a mixture of the two.

 

“Um, Mr. Seaworth said that there are private study rooms down here,” he says.

 

Sansa finds herself staring at him and she wonders why she feels a sinking stomach in her stomach that she can only identify as disappointment. There’s no reason for that though. What has she been expecting? It’s been years since she and Jon spoke last – truly spoke to one another – and what? Did she think that all of a sudden, in the library’s basement, that would change?

 

“Yes,” Sansa says, taking her keys out once more and walking away from him, not looking back, but knowing that he’s following. She’s able to feel his eyes on her. For a man who hadn’t wanted her in the least, he certainly looks at her enough.

 

Sansa unlocks one of the small private study rooms and reaches in, flipping on the light. It flickers for a moment before staying on. The rooms are small – just big enough for a table and a couple of chairs. Students have to request one of these rooms from the front desk.

 

“These lights on a lot of the time?” Jon asks her, pointing that small device Edd had previously had up towards the single light in the room.

 

Sansa is standing outside of the small room – not wanting to stand in such a close space with Jon. He looks back to her and she shakes her head at him.

 

“Around midterms and finals, yes. Other than that, not really,” she answers.

 

Jon nods at her answer and his pencil is behind his ear. He pulls it out to write something else.

 

“Is Tormund bothering you?” Jon asks and he’s staring down at the papers in his hand as he asks that.

 

“No,” Sansa shakes her head. “He makes me smile,” she then says truthfully. “It’s been a long time since a man has made me smile.”

 

Jon is silent at that and he then gives his head a nod. “Great,” he says almost too quietly, but Sansa hears it nonetheless.

 

She feels herself bristle. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

 

Jon’s eyes fly up to look at her at that, slightly wide with surprise. “I didn’t say that, Sansa.”

 

“I heard your tone,” she can’t help, but snap at him.

 

“Sansa,” he steps towards her then, but then stops himself abruptly.

 

Sansa doesn’t know if she’s grateful for the space between them or not. And she _hates_ that she doesn’t know. Why doesn’t she know? Of course she should want space between them. Of course she should want to not have Jon Snow standing so close to her. She hates him. She hates him.

 

She hates that she has to remind herself of that.

 

“You deserve to smile more than anyone I know in this world,” Jon tells her quietly and his eyes stare into hers as he says that.

 

Sansa stares at him for a moment and he knows it wasn’t his intention, but nonetheless, it’s what happens. His words make her want to cry because when she was with him, she smiled all of the time. When she was with him, she had truly been happy. Hadn’t he known that? Hadn’t he been able to see?

 

Except for Brandon being in her life, Sansa knows she hasn’t felt happiness like what she had felt with Jon in all the years since they’ve been finished.

 

When they were together, had he been happy? At all? Had she given him the same happiness that he had given her? She knows the answer though. She may wonder, but she knows that she has always know the answer to the question. No. That’s the answer. No, she hadn’t made him happy. If she had, he would have wanted to keep that happiness. He would have told Robb and Arya and her parents that he was happy and that Sansa was the reason for that happiness.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says her name again; quietly; almost hesitantly.

 

Jon lifts his hand though and Sansa watches him and she waits for him to stop himself, but he doesn’t. She stills when his fingers brush across her cheek and she stares into his eyes, hardly able to believe that he was actually touching her. It lasts for just a second before Jon is lowering his hand again, but Sansa can feel her entire face warming from it.

 

“I just want you to be happy,” he whispers.

 

That seems to snap Sansa out of it and she takes a step back away from him.

 

“I was happy, Jon,” she says and without waiting to see if those words sink in or not, Sansa turns and walks away to return to Mr. Seaworth and the others, where hopefully, she will be able to breathe again.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just completely blown away with this response and I can't thank you all enough.


	4. Four

…

 

**Four.**

“Here we are,” Sansa lets out a sigh once she has procured a shopping trolley and has settled Brandon down into the front seat. “Would you like to hold my list for me?” She asks and Brandon beams, nodding quickly, eager for the task, and Sansa smiles, too, handing him the folded piece of paper.

 

She knows everything that she needs, but she likes making her lists anyway. And going to the market on a busy Saturday – and with a toddler – can be overwhelming at times and this assures that she won’t forget anything. And this is their first shopping trip to begin stocking their new kitchen in their new house. This is definitely an important shopping trip.

 

She just wishes she had had another opportunity besides a Saturday to come to the market for shopping. Oh, well. The sooner she and Brandon can get this chore out of the way, the sooner they can get home.

 

Sansa smiles at the thought. Home. Not home to her parents’ house, but hers and Brandon’s home.

 

This is going to be their first night sleeping there. The paint has dried and the rooms have been aired out and with the help of her family, Sansa has gotten the furniture arranged in the rooms the way she likes it. Now once she gets the cabinets in the kitchen stocked with food, it will really feel like home.

 

“Alright, sweetling,” Sansa smiles to her son. “Let’s start with the fresh fruit and veggies and go from there,” she suggests and Brandon nods quickly and eagerly unfolds the piece of paper.  “What color are these, Brandon?” She asks, stopping next to a bin of apples.

 

Shea at the daycare and Sansa at home have both begun teaching Brandon his colors as well as the beginnings of his numbers and letters. Sansa doesn’t know if he’s still too young, but she doesn’t see the harm in getting him started on the most basic of things sooner rather than later.

 

“Red!” Brandon exclaims and Sansa smiles proudly.

 

“You are so smart, my little one,” she informs him and Brandon’s smile turns to one of pride. He may not know exactly what that means, but he knows that it’s something he should like to be called. “And do you know what else is red?” She asks.

 

“Hair!” Brandon points to her hair and Sansa laughs, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead.

 

Sansa loves fresh fruit and vegetables – always has – and it’s a habit she’s trying to instill to her son as well. Brandon already is in love with bananas and Sansa is sure to grab a large bundle. She also gathers apples, pears, blueberries, a large container of pineapple chunks and she then moves to the other side of the produce section to begin loading up on vegetables.

 

There is a small stand with slices of fresh cut oranges and Sansa helps herself to two – one for herself and she hands the other to Brandon, laughing as the boy happily bites into it, juice dribbling down his chin, and he giggles as if it’s the funniest thing to happen to him.

 

After gathering carrots, potatoes, mushrooms and a couple containers of freshly washed lettuce and spinach, Sansa steers the trolley back to get a sack of oranges. She remembers a single lemon, too. She has planned that in celebration of hers and Brandon’s first official night in their new home, she would bake a lemon cake for a treat tonight.

 

She swears that the store has gotten more crowded since she has arrived, but she manages to get herself and her trolley in front of the butcher counter, leaning into the glass, perusing the different cuts of meat and making sure she keeps one hand curled tightly around the trolley’s handlebar so someone just can’t make off with it and her son.

 

Brandon is chattering to himself, folding and unfolding the list over and over in his hands, and Sansa studies the chicken breasts and the turkey burgers; wondering if she should just perhaps get both.  

 

Someone jostles into her side as they reach to take one of the numbers from on top of the counter and they give her a hurried apology. Sansa looks behind her, just to make sure that Brandon’s alright, and her hand tightens around the handlebar. Brandon is occupying himself, still chattering to himself in a language that probably only other toddlers can understand and he’s running his fingertip over the words on the piece of paper written in Sansa’s flowing cursive script.

 

Her fingers tighten a little bit more on the handlebar and as if he can feel her eyes on him, Brandon lifts his head then and gives her a beaming smile, and Sansa smiles in return.

 

“Alright, sweetling?” Sansa asks and Brandon nods quickly. “We’re almost done here,” she then promises.

 

She considers lifting him up and holding him in her arms, on her hip, but it’s too crowded and it’s just easier having him in the trolley for the time being.

 

Sansa gives him another smile before he begins chattering again and tracing the words on the list and Sansa looks back to the butcher’s counter. She will definitely have to work with her schedule because coming to the market on a Saturday morning again is just not going to work for her.

 

Crowds of people like this makes her nervous, to be honest. She likes to be able to see everyone’s face and see every possible way to get out if she felt trapped in a space. She had never used to be like that, but with Ramsay, Sansa knows that so much of herself had changed during the time spent with him. She couldn’t feel trapped anymore. Feeling trapped made her feel scared and feeling scared made her heart begin to quicken in her chest.

 

There is always that fear in the back of her mind. She knows her father had promised her that she would never see Ramsay Bolton again and she believes Ned because she has no reason _not_ to trust him and believe him, and yet, sometimes, when she feels like there’s too many people around, Ramsay is in the crowd, hiding himself. Watching her. Watching Brandon…

 

Just at the thought, Sansa whips her head back to her son, but Brandon is right where should be. Ramsay isn’t here. No one has snatched him from her. Ramsay isn’t here.

 

Sansa tries to tell herself this over and over again and not only that, she tries to get herself to believe it. She hasn’t seen Ramsay in nearly four years. He’s not just going to pop up into this very market on this Saturday morning when she’s here, too. Ned said she will never see him again and she hasn’t in all of this time. And he’s not here now.

 

He’s not here, Sansa, she tells herself even as she feels tears beginning to prick her eyes and her heart is racing so quickly in her chest, it’s beginning to hurt her breastbone.

 

He’s not here, Sansa. Ramsay’s not here. He’s not here.

 

She feels like there are people all around her now, trying to get closer to the butcher counter, jostling into her and they’re all around; too close and she’s surrounded. Her hand grips the trolley’s handlebar, her knuckles turn white and she begins to feel the world moving around her; turning slightly on its axis, everything slowly beginning to slip onto its side.

 

When she looks into the glass of the butcher’s case, Sansa gasps so sharply then, the man next to her looks at her, but she has frozen and she can’t look away.

 

Ramsay. He is right here – standing right behind her and giving her that smile over her shoulder that always makes her feel so cold. Ramsay. He’s… Ramsay’s here. He’s found her and he’s found Brandon.

 

That’s the last thought she is able to think in her mind as she begins falling down, the floor moving upwards to meet her and before her eyes fall shut, she thinks that Ramsay’s here and she can hear Brandon crying. And then her eyes close and everything goes black and silent around her.

 

…

 

_“Sansa…”_

Sansa begins to hear a voice slowly entering her mind, but it’s not clear. It’s as if her head is underwater and someone is trying to speak to her.

 

_“Sansa, dear.”_

That’s her mother. Sansa can recognize her, but she’s still having a hard time hearing her clearly and her eyes seem quite uncooperative and don’t want to open.

 

_“I’m here. How is she?”_ Another voice and Sansa hears shoes squeak on a tiled floor; running and then coming to a stop so suddenly, they squeak, and then she can sense someone else in front of her.

Pine. And fresh snow.

 

Jon. It’s Jon. Jon’s here. But why on earth would Jon be here?

 

_“You didn’t speed the whole way here, did you?”_ That is her mother, asking that.

 

_“You know speed limits are just more like suggestions anyway,”_ Jon answers. _“Robb and Arya were just about a mile away from the stadium, but they’ve turned around and are coming back. Traffic’s a bit of a nightmare though.”_

Oh, no. The game, Sansa thinks. Why aren’t Robb and Arya going to the game? Because of her? Arya is going to be so mad. Arya’s been looking forward to going to the game for weeks now. And she still doesn’t understand why Jon is there. Did her mother call him? Buy why would Catelyn call him? And who called her mother? Is she still in the market? She really needs to open her eyes. Where’s Brandon?

 

It’s the thoughts of her sons that finally get Sansa’s eyelids finally fluttering and then she gets them open. Just as she had felt, both Catelyn and Jon are kneeling in front of her and when they see that she’s waking up, both let out sighs of relief.

 

“How are you?” Jon asks, his voice quiet and heavy with concern; his dark eyes the same as they look at her. Sansa just shakes her head at his question and then winces when she realizes that doing something as simple as that causes her an ache.

 

Jon lifts a hand and his fingers then slip into her hair, feeling the back of her head. She winces again even though Jon is touching her with the utmost care.

 

“You hit your head when you fainted,” Jon tells her in that same quiet voice and he is so concerned – so concerned for _her_ – it makes her hurt.

 

“I fainted?” Sansa moves her eyes to her mother for confirmation and Catelyn nods, brushing hair back from the side of Sansa’s face. Sansa then gasps. “Brandon! Where’s Brandon?” Her heart is racing and she sits up too quickly and the world starts to move again.

 

And as if Jon knows this, his arm slips around her shoulders to steady her.

 

She realizes she’s sitting on the floor in a little hallway in the back of the market; a hallway that leads back to the customer bathrooms.

 

“It’s alright, Sansa,” Catelyn assures her, still moving her hair back. “Brandon is alright.”

 

And then Sansa hears him. The door to the women’s bathroom opens and Brandon comes out, being carried in the arms of a pretty woman with long and curly brown hair and wearing a green apron.

 

“Mama!” Brandon exclaims.

 

“There’s mama,” the woman smiles when she sees that Sansa is awake. “And now you get to greet her with a clean diaper and clean face.”

 

As soon as Brandon sees Sansa’s open eyes, he begins to wiggle to be let down. The woman does and Brandon comes straight to Sansa as if he’s been fired from a rocket. Sansa opens her arms and Brandon barrels right into her, the impact of his body knocking hers backward, but Jon’s arm is still around Sansa’s shoulders, holding her upright so she doesn’t fall back against the wall behind her.

 

“Oh, Brandon. My Brandon,” Sansa closes her eyes as she feels tears leaking down her cheeks and she hugs Brandon tight and close. “Did I scare you?” She asks.

 

Brandon shakes his head, but his arms remain tight around her neck and his head is buried against the side of her throat, and Sansa kisses the side of his head.

 

“My brave boy,” she whispers and doesn’t let him go as she looks up to the woman. “Thank you,” she says and she’s not too sure all the woman has done for her, but she has obviously done something to help.

 

“I didn’t change his diaper,” the woman says. “I don’t want you to think I’m one of _those_ people. Your mum did and then I bought him a Jell-O cup and he got red all over him. I was just cleaning his face.”

 

“Thank you…” Sansa says again.

 

“Margaery,” the woman smiles and her smile makes Sansa smile, too. “I work in the floral department and when I got here, there didn’t seem to be anyone who could agree on what to do. I called your mum for you. I figured that it would be who you want from your contacts in your phone.”

 

Sansa looks to Catelyn at that. “I don’t…” she begins to say and then shakes her head. “I thought I saw… Ramsay was here, mom. He was right behind me,” she then says in a whisper.

 

“No, Sansa,” Catelyn shakes her own head as if she’s not surprised at what Sansa has said. “He’s not here. I promise you he’s nowhere near here.”

 

Sansa doesn’t believe that. “He was,” she insists. “He was right behind me at the butcher’s counter.” She then looks to Jon because it’s clear that Catelyn isn’t believing her. “I swear, Jon. Ramsay was here.”

 

Jon is looking furious – his eyes nearly black and his jaw clenched – but then when he sees Sansa looking at him and actually addressing him, his entire face seems to melt. “He’s gone now, Sansa. I swear it.”

 

She swallows and doesn’t say anything else. It’s obvious that Jon doesn’t believe her either.

 

And Sansa feels a stone of disappointment in the pit of her stomach that Jon doesn’t believe her.

 

“Do you think you can stand?” Jon asks.

 

“Here, love. Let’s try,” Catelyn says and gets to her own feet before reaching down for Brandon, but Brandon, not wanting to be apart from Sansa again, only tightens his arms around Sansa’s neck. “No, Brandon. You can go back to her in just a moment. We want your mama to get to her feet.”

 

“It’s okay, sweetling,” Sansa says and pulls her head back so she can look into Brandon’s face. She gives him a smile and pushes his curls back from his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that.”

 

Brandon loosens his arms just enough for Catelyn to gently lift him into her arms and Jon slowly stands up, taking hold of one of Sansa’s hands and the other cupping her elbow. Sansa is so distracted over the fact that she has actually fainted in the market, she can’t even focus on the fact that Jon is touching her. It’s been so long since they’ve last touched and it used to set her on fire.

 

But right now, she’s so distracted, her eyes still darting around as if she expects to see Ramsay pop out at any second, she can’t even really spend the time in being bothered that Jon is touching her. Instead, her head is aching and she finds herself actually leaning into Jon’s chest for support.

 

“There we are,” he murmurs quietly, still holding onto her hand and Sansa gives it a grasp.

 

Once on her feet, Brandon stretches his arms for her and Sansa pulls him back into her arms to hold.

 

“No, no! Please continue moving as slowly as possible!”

 

That’s Arya’s voice ringing out in the store and they all turn their heads to see Arya and Robb rushing up the crisp and snack food aisle, trying to not push people aside, but clearly running out of patience.

 

And then Robb and Arya are finally in the little hallway with the rest of them and even with Brandon in her arms, Robb and Arya sweep Sansa up into a hug between them.

 

“You didn’t have to come,” Sansa says once they step back from her. “All of you. You didn’t have to come. You’ve been looking forward to that match for weeks now,” Sansa says to both Robb and Arya, but mostly Arya, and Arya gives her sister a fierce frown.

 

“I’m going to pretend that I have suddenly gone deaf and can’t hear a word you’re saying,” Arya says.

 

“Seriously, Sansa,” Robb says, nearly rolling his eyes. He gives her one more squeeze with his arm around her shoulders. “Hello,” Robb then says, straightening a bit, once he sees Margaery.

 

“Hello,” Margaery smiles back to him.

 

Arya rolls her eyes at them both and then looks to Catelyn. “What happened? She fainted?”

 

“I’m standing right here,” Sansa can’t help, but frown.

 

“Yes, you are,” Arya agrees. “But you’re the one who fainted and you obviously won’t know what happened after you did so.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I saw Ramsay,” she then said, rather angrily, and Robb and Arya both stare at her. She sighs softly and swallows the lump in her throat. “I _thought_ I saw Ramsay,” she admits.

 

She knows Ramsay isn’t here. There’s no way he’s here. She just was imagining him. She knows that. But… it had all seemed so real. When she saw him in the glass’s reflection, standing behind her and smiling that cold, empty smile of his, Sansa would have bet her life that he had really been there.

 

Brandon gives a little giggle then and Sansa turns her head to see that Jon is still standing at Sansa’s side and he is pulling faces at Brandon, making the toddler laugh. Brandon’s chin is resting on Sansa’s shoulder and he reaches a hand out, his fingers finding the scar on the side of Jon’s face, above his right eyebrow, and Jon leans in a little closer so Brandon can trace it. He’s always been somewhat fascinated with Jon’s scar and Jon has never shied away from the little one always wanting to trace it.

 

Sansa doesn’t know much about the scar; only that he – supposedly – received it one night in a pub fight after a night of too much drinking. It had happened right after they broke up and Sansa has never asked him for the whole story; knowing that it’s no longer any of her business.

 

Jon notices that Sansa is watching them and he straightens, pulling his face from Brandon’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says to her quietly, pushing his hands in the pockets of his coat.

 

She’s been noticing that he’s been saying those two words to her so often lately; nearly every time they see one another now. _I’m sorry_. She doesn’t know why he is apologizing over everything all of the time. She would have thought that Jon Snow wouldn’t find a reason to ever apologize to her.

 

Sansa looks back to her mother and sister, who are whispering to one another now, and then to Robb and Margaery the florist, who are smiling at one another.

 

“I have to finish my grocery shopping,” Sansa says to no one in particular.

 

And they must all take that as an invitation because Arya takes the list from Brandon’s pocket and leads the way, Jon pushes the cart, Sansa – holding Brandon since he doesn’t want to be let down – and Catelyn walk behind Arya and before the cart and Robb and Margaery wind up walking at the end, next to each other and talking with one another.

 

“Why did you call Jon?” Sansa can’t help, but ask, leaning into her mother to whisper the question so it’s not overheard by anyone else.

 

“I don’t know, dear,” Catelyn responds. “I just thought you might want him here.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight change of plans. I was going to have Val in this chapter, but she will be in the next instead. Thank you so much for the response you are giving to this story. I can't explain how much it means to me.


	5. Five

…

 

**Five.**

“You don’t have to do all of this,” Sansa says, hours later, when she has finally convinced Robb enough that she doesn’t need him to sleep on the couch for the night and he finally leaves. Arya has gone home, too – back to Torrhen’s Square and to Gendry – and now, the only ones to remain are Ned and Catelyn. Jon had left after they had gone through her entire shopping list and her groceries were paid for and packed away into the back of her car.

 

“I left a jobsite. I should get back,” he had told all of them and Sansa had felt her mouth fall open slightly at that.

 

She nearly asked him why he had done that; why he had left a job to come to the market for _her_. But she remained quiet and as everyone said goodbye to him, she busied herself with buckling Brandon into his car seat. When she straightened again, Jon was walking away. He hadn’t said goodbye to her because she knew that he knew she didn’t know if she wanted one or not. But when she watched him walk away, she had the strongest urge to go after him; to say goodbye and to thank him for coming today even though she never would have expected him to.

 

But she didn’t go after him. She didn’t say anything. She watched him get in his truck and drive away and she busied herself with listening to Robb, Arya and Catelyn all talking about going back to her house with her.

 

“It’s no problem, Sansa. You know that,” Ned tells her.

 

“I know it wouldn’t be a problem, but it’s unnecessary,” she says. “It’s my house. I need to be here alone eventually. And I have Lady and the security system is installed and ready to go. _I’m_ ready.”

 

“Sansa, your father doesn’t mind spending one night on your sofa,” Catelyn says from her place at the stove.

 

Sansa had imagined a quiet day at home. After the market, she was going to return to _her_ home and she and Brandon would spend the rest of the day, getting themselves settled. She could imagine being outside in the backyard, playing with both Brandon and Lady because even though it is cold out, they live in the North and loving the cold and relishing in the cold is in all of their blood.

 

She would then take them all inside where they would warm themselves up and Sansa would begin making dinner. She didn’t have the cable box hooked up – the television company was due to come in a few days – but she imagined Brandon playing with his toys in the living room and if he grew bored of that, she would put a movie on for him on her laptop.

 

And then they would eat dinner – their first in their kitchen – and after, she would give Brandon his bath – the first in their bathroom – and then change him into his pajamas and sing and rock him to sleep as she did nearly every other night before placing him down in his crib for his first night’s sleep in their new home.

 

But now, she fainted in the market and the day is turning into nothing at all as she had planned. Now, her parents are both there and her mother is standing at the stove, cooking eggs and bacon for dinner. The Starks love having breakfast for dinner and all consider it to be their comfort foods. Sansa and Ned sit at the kitchen table and Brandon sits in Sansa’s lap, coloring on a page from his activity book in front of him. Sansa has cut a banana up for him and he pauses in his coloring every few minutes to grasp another banana slice and guide it to his mouth.

 

Sansa knows that she should put him down – knowing it’s not good to smother him – but honestly, right now, after what happened earlier, she can’t bear to not hold him.

 

“I mind,” Sansa replies to both of her parents as she brushes a hand over and over again through Brandon’s curls.

 

“Sansa, your mother and I know you are strong,” Ned begins. “After everything you’ve been through and _survived_ , we do not doubt that you are strong.”

 

Sansa swallows the thickness in her throat and continues watching Brandon as he colors.

 

“But it’s okay to admit that you’re just not having a good day and need someone with you,” Ned continues.

 

“I do have someone. I have Brandon and Lady and…” Sansa trails off as she sees her father beginning to frown because that’s not at all what he means and she knows it. She sighs softly. “I just… I have to start living, dad. I’ve been living with you and mom and I don’t know what I would have done without you as I went through all of this, but I’m twenty-five and I want to start my life. For me and Brandon. You understand that… don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do, Sansa,” Ned assures her as he reaches a hand out and places it over one of hers. “Your mother and I both understand that. But it’s just after today-”

 

“Sansa, you can’t blame us for being worried,” Catelyn cuts in, stepping away from the stove to stand at her husband’s side so they can both look to Sansa. “Dear, it will just be for one night. Let one of us stay for just tonight and then tomorrow night, we’ll leave you to yourself. I promise.”

 

Sansa looks at them for a moment and then to Brandon. He is in the middle of coloring an elephant purple and he pauses to grab another slice of banana. He shoves it into his mouth and then grabbing another, he turns and looks up at Sansa, giving her a grin as he holds it out for her.

 

“Thank you, Brandon,” she smiles faintly and takes it from him, him watching as she places it into her mouth to make sure that she actually eats it.

 

And once he’s satisfied that she is, he gives a nod and then turns back to his coloring. Sansa closes her eyes and tightens her arm around his middle just a little before leaning her nose to the back of his head and inhaling the scent from his hair. He smells like baby powder and the air just before a snowfall. He has begun chattering to himself as he picks up another crayon – this one blue – and turns the page in his book, beginning to color a dragon.

 

Sometimes, she finds herself just staring at him, watching; almost as if she’s waiting. Waiting to see if there is the slightest hint of anything Ramsay being inside of her son. Maybe Brandon is still too young, but maybe, someday he’ll do something that will make her blood run cold because it will be _so_ like Ramsay, it will absolutely terrify her.

 

Or maybe, being surrounded by her and the rest of the Stark family and feeling loved and warm and _safe_ , nothing of Ramsay Bolton will live on through Brandon. That is what she hopes for. That is what she hopes for every day. Ramsay has already taken so much of the girl she used to be. She doesn’t want him to take her son, too.

 

Catelyn has returned to the stove to finish their eggs and Sansa looks to Ned, seeing him watching her.

 

“Please give me tonight. Just to see if I can do it.” She hates the idea that she might not be able to. “And then tomorrow night, if I need you…” she trails off then and she waits for her father to protest the idea. But instead, Ned gives her a small smile and nods and Sansa breathes with relief. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

 

Sansa stands, moving Brandon from her lap to his grandpa’s, and she goes to help her mom. Catelyn and Sansa had gone shopping once Sansa had signed the papers, purchasing the home, and Sansa takes the plates now that they had purchased, helping Catelyn fill each portions of the bacon and eggs and they set the table. Ned stands to place Brandon down in his high chair and they all settle into their own chairs.

 

Catelyn begins telling Ned about Margaery, the sweet florist in the market, who had helped them that day and who Robb hadn’t been able to stop looking at, Sansa cuts Brandon’s fried egg for him and makes sure is bib is secure around his neck so he doesn’t get the yolk everywhere.

 

Their first dinner in their new home isn’t _exactly_ how Sansa had imagined, but Ned laughs then at something Catelyn has said and Brandon laughs, too, just because his grandpa is and Sansa smiles. It’s just as good.

 

…

 

As soon as her parents leave, just as she promised she would, Sansa lets Lady out into the backyard one last time and then Sansa locks the doors – and then double-checks all of the locks and the windows – she sets the alarm.

 

“Alright,” Sansa breathes and then turns to smile at Brandon, who has been following her as she does it. “Ready for your bath?” She asks him.

 

“Yep!” Brandon exclaims happily and turns, hurrying off to the bathroom, and Sansa laughs, following after him.

 

Brandon’s favorite bath toy is a rather intricate plastic pirate ship with pirates, the Captain and his parrot, an octopus, cannons, and a chest of gold. It had been a gift from Jon.

 

_“You didn’t have to…” Sansa begins to say once the baby shower has been winding down and everyone has moved into the kitchen for slices of the large sheet cake Catelyn has ordered special from the bakery._

_Sansa is still sitting in the chair in the den, surrounded with all of the presents everyone had given her this afternoon for her son, due in just one more month’s time, and with the room all, but empty now, Jon approaches with his own box, wrapped in blue and white striped wrapping paper._

_“I wanted to,” Jon replies softly and holds the box out for her to take._

_Sansa does so and Jon sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, watching, as she begins to slowly peel the wrapping paper away._

_Her heart is thumping so loudly in her chest, she swears that she can hear it echoing in her ears and she wonders if Jon can hear it, too. She wonders if he has absolutely any idea how she still sometimes – most times – reach when he’s near her and she wonders if he’s ever reacted like that – when they were together and now that they’re not._

_“It’s for when he’s a bit older, but I was walking through the toy store and I thought that I would have liked to have something like that when I was a little boy,” Jon explains – as if he needs to explain – as Sansa peels the last bit of paper away to reveal the pirate ship bath toy. “Bath time was always my favorite time. I never argued with my mum when she said I had to take one and maybe, your little boy will like baths, too, and if he doesn’t, maybe this will help,” he continues and Sansa is looking down at the box, studying the picture of the toy on the front and in the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s not used to Jon saying so much – especially to her._

_“I love it, Jon,” Sansa says, lifting her eyes to look at him, and she does. She really does._

_He stares at her for a moment and she stares at him and he gives the smallest smile – just a twitch of his lips that disappears as quickly as it appears – but it’s the kind of smile she’s used to from him. She used to try all sorts of things to get him to give a smile; whether it be that tiny one or a full-blown grin. And when she made him laugh? Oh goodness. That was her favorite thing in the world to do._

_“I can’t wait to meet your son, Sansa,” he whispers._

And now, Brandon loves the pirate ship, too. It’s the only bath toy he ever wants and the rest of the family knows that. For his birthday or Christmas, they know not to waste their money on any other bath toy for Brandon because he just won’t play with it. He just wants to play with his pirate ship while in the water and he does so now as Sansa gently washes his hair. He creates intricate storylines that Sansa pretends to be able to follow though most of them are done in his intricate toddler-speak and Sansa gasps along as if she understands perfectly.

 

After nearly forty minutes, the water is cooling and Sansa kisses his little wrinkled fingertips.

 

“You know the rule, little one. When you’re a prune, time to get out,” she tells him.

 

Brandon pouts, but thankfully, he doesn’t raise a fit – not tonight – and after drying him off completely, Sansa changes him into a nighttime diaper and then his favorite pajamas that she had made for him out of gray thermal material with wolves heads printed on them.

 

He’s almost asleep now, his head heavy on her chest, as she walks him around his small bedroom in her arms, humming a song to him until she can hear the change in his breathing and know that he’s completely asleep. She then lays him down in his crib – he will be getting his first bed soon – and covers him with his blanket and places his stuffed wolf next to him.

 

Sansa gives him one last smile and kiss on the head before leaving the room and with Lady on her heels, Sansa goes to the front and back doors, checking the locks and the security system one more time before going into the bathroom to clean up from Brandon’s bath and to take her own shower.

 

She knows it might be considered strange, but she stands beneath the hot spray of water and she smiles. She runs her fingertips along the new dark gray tiled wall and she closes her eyes, feeling the water pound down around her. This just might be the best shower she has ever had. In her shower, in her bathtub, in her house.

 

She would be perfectly content to stay under that water for hours, but she gets out sooner than she normally would have liked and wrapping the towel around her body, without even running a comb through her hair first, Sansa leaves the bathroom for a moment, creeping into Brandon’s room. The little boy is still sleeping in his crib, peaceful and deep, and Sansa admits she feels relief when she sees him.

 

In the back of her mind – though she won’t admit it to anyone ever if anyone ever asks – she had been scared that he would be gone.

 

…

 

“You look completely exhausted, my dear,” Nan says to her the next morning after about two hours or so of work.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says with a slight laugh and finishes checking out the books the student across from her wishes to take out of the Library.

 

She should have known that even with the makeup she had applied that morning, Nan would be the one to still detect the bags beneath her eyes that she had desperately tried to hide. She had anticipated Brandon to wake up during the night, crying and scared, forgetting where he was, but in fact, Sansa was the one who hadn’t been able to sleep. She laid in bed with Lady snoring next to her and she spent hour after hour, blinking up at her dark ceiling, tensing anytime she thought she heard even the slightest noise.

 

“A new house with new sounds. I’m just getting used to it,” she tells her coworker.

 

“Speaking of new house, I bought you a teapot as a housewarming gift,” Nan says heads into the back office.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sansa says after her, but Nan promptly ignores her.

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees someone approaching the front desk and thinking it’s another student, she turns with that warm librarian smile of hers on her face. But it’s not a student. It’s Jon. Snow Construction has been awarded the project of remodeling the Library’s lower floor and it’s their first day on the job. Sansa already knows that it will take the entire job for her to get used to seeing Jon in her place of work.

 

As always, he just looks too handsome and Sansa wants to hate him for it, but she’s already learned that hating Jon Snow just seems impossible – no matter how badly she wishes for it sometimes.

 

He’s wearing his company’s tee-shirt with black jeans and his work boots. Work gloves are in his back pocket and he’s holding a pair of safety goggles in his hand. His hair, as always when he works, is pulled back into that bun. She never would have thought she would ever find man buns to be sexy and she hates that she finds his to be.

 

“Um, earlier this morning, the other librarian, Nan told me that if I needed anything, I could ask you,” Jon says.

 

_Thanks, Nan_ , Sansa says in her mind.

 

“I have to turn the power off downstairs, but I don’t want to screw anything up here and I just want to make sure I have my electrician turn off the right breakers,” he tells her.

 

Sansa nods and without saying anything, she comes out from behind the desk. She normally wears flats to work. With how long she’s standing each day, heels do a number to her feet after so many hours, and flats are just the more logical choice. In her flats, her height is now even with Jon’s, she notes, as they walk side-by-side down the stairs to the lower level. She sees Tormund and Edd in their own _Snow Construction_ tee-shirts and work gloves in hand and when Tormund sees her, his face lights up with a grin and Sansa smiles at him in return. She ignores the frown she sees from the corner of her eye on Jon’s face.

 

She then sees the most beautiful blonde woman she has ever seen. She’s also wearing a _Snow Construction_ tee-shirt and Sansa wonders who she is because she had thought that Jon had only had three workers – himself, Tormund and Edd. She hadn’t known he had hired anyone else. Not that there was a reason for her to know, but still, when had he hired someone else and what could this gorgeous woman do? She should be on a fashion show catwalk; not wearing work boots with a utility tool belt around her waist.

 

“Um,” Jon begins to say and then rubs the back of his neck. “This is Val… my head electrician.”

 

Sansa knows she probably looks weird, coming to a sudden halt as if she has walked smack into an invisible wall, but she doesn’t care how she looks in that moment. Val. Jon’s girlfriend, Val. At least, she thinks she’s his girlfriend. Isn’t that what Arya had said? That he’s dating this woman? That he's kissed her? This woman who’s probably the most beautiful woman in the world with her long blonde hair, large grey eyes and a slim, petite body that has obviously never carried the weight of a baby. From what Sansa can tell of the woman, Val is absolutely perfect.

 

“Give us one moment,” Jon says to the others and then with a gentle hand reaching out, he curls his fingers around Sansa’s hand. She stiffens just slightly, but Jon doesn’t let go. He turns to face her even though she’s still facing forward; still facing Val’s direction. “I’m not dating her, Sansa,” he murmurs to her in a low voice.

 

_That_ gets Sansa to look at him.

 

“I’m not,” Jon shakes his head. “We’re just friends and coworkers. She’s a hell of an electrician. After I hired her, we went out for drinks – me, Val, Tormund and Edd. Arya’s met her and thinks I need to start dating again. Someone. _Anyone_. She wants me to hookup... I haven’t dated since-”

 

That shakes Sansa out of it and she pulls her hand back from his.

 

_I haven’t dated since-_

Sansa shakes her head at him. “I have no idea why you think I would care whether you’re dating her or not.”

 

Jon is quiet at that. He just stares at her with that intense look that he always looks at her with and Sansa swallows, hating that look. It reminds her of so many things; so many times when Jon looked at her as if she was his world; times when Sansa had actually believed that to be true and he to be sincere.

 

“It’s been years, Jon,” Sansa forces herself to continue. “You can do whatever you want. It has nothing to do with me. And I’m sure my family would approve of her. I know that’s the only thing you care about.”

 

Jon visibly tenses at that, but without another word to him, Sansa turns to continue walking towards Val, Tormund and Edd. She needs to show Val the breaker boxes and then she needs to get back upstairs. She’ll be sure to tell Nan that she’s just too busy today and can’t help Snow Construction anymore if they need anything else.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Jon/Sansa/Brandon scene is nearly the entirety of the next chapter. In the mean time, thank you an infinite amount of times for your support of this story.


	6. Six

…

 

**Six.**

Every day, Sansa packs her lunch at home and then takes it over to the daycare center so she can spend her hour break with Brandon, he eating his own lunch that the daycare provided for the kids. She’ll play with him as they eat or she’ll watch him play with the other children. Either way, each day when she walks into the room, Brandon sees her and his entire face lights up as if he hadn’t just seen her a few hours earlier when she dropped him off to Shae.

 

Nothing made her happier in this life than seeing her baby boy always so happy to see her.

 

On Fridays though, the cafeteria in the university’s student union has a fish-and-chip special and Sansa admits that she has something of an addiction to fish-and-chips so of course, she is going to take advantage when they serve it _every_ Friday.

 

She picks Brandon up from the daycare center and zips his coat up for him and makes sure his shoes are tied and that his mittens, hat and scarf are secure on his body before she stands and reaches down, smiling when Brandon grabs her mitten-clad hand with his own.

 

“See you in a bit,” Shae smiles as she comes from the small kitchen, a bin full with bags of apples slices in her arms.

 

“Do you want me to bring you back anything?” Sansa offers, holding firmly onto Brandon’s hand as the little boy tries his hardest to get out the front door – with or without her.

 

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thank you,” Shae shakes her head and then pauses, looking into the room with the screaming and hyper children and then down to the bin of apple slices. “Chips without the fish?” She asks, looking back to Sansa.

 

Sansa lets out a laugh. “You got it.”

 

Outside, at the noon hour, campus is a little more crowded; students and staff walking to and from class. There are groups of students who like taking all morning classes – even on Fridays so their weekends can start earlier, there are groups of students who like to sleep in no matter the day and get to their classes in the afternoon and then there are the students who shove all of their classes into the first four days of the week so they get a completely free Friday.

 

When in college, attending this very university, Sansa used to be in the first group. She has always been a morning person and never had an issue with pulling herself from bed for an eight o’clock history lecture. Even in the winter, when it was frigid and snowing and most kids had no problem staying in bed and taking the day off from class, Sansa rolled herself out from beneath her thick goose-down comforter and flannel sheets and brave the elements to get her money’s worth. Honestly, if she didn’t go to class, she always felt guilty. Her parents weren’t paying her tuition for her to sleep. She had even gone once while coming down with bronchitis and the professor had taken one look at her and ordered her from his class.

 

_“You know, I used to have no problem getting up for my class before you started crawling into my bed,” Jon murmured to her one early morning when the room was still just grey with dawn._

_Sansa laughed softly and pressed her face against the side of his throat, Jon’s arms tightening around her in response. “Crawling into your bed? Is that what happened?” She teased softly, still feeling half asleep._

_“Fine,” Jon conceded and Sansa could feel him smiling against where her forehead and hairline met. “I_ might _have carried you here.”_

_“That sounds more like it,” Sansa said and snuggled in closer to him._

_She didn’t lift her head to look out the window, but she could feel the slight coldness of the room and the heater had yet to kick on to chase it away and she knew that it was snowing outside. Here though, in Jon’s bed, she felt as if the long winter had passed and summertime was upon them once more. She always felt like that around him; like the sun was always shining and warming her shoulders._

_“I never want you to leave this bed,” Jon then murmured._

_“I’m never going anywhere,” Sansa whispered and though her voice was quiet, she knew that Jon could hear the strength of the words because his arms tightened even more, holding her body as close to his as possible._

Brandon giggles and Sansa smiles as she watches him as he does his best to walk without stumbling while sticking his tongue out, trying to catch a snow flurry on it.

 

_I haven’t dated since-_

 

Jon’s words from a couple days earlier still echo in her mind. She wonders if that’s the truth and if it is the truth, she wonders why he told her that. Had he said it to make her feel guilty; because she had dated since she walked away from him when he couldn’t stand up for their relationship and he hadn’t? Is he saying that his way of showing her that he thought he had cared for her far more than she had for him?

 

No, Sansa shakes her head and it’s not the first time she’s done that since he’s told her that. Jon might be a lot of things, but purposely telling her that to hurt her… at least, she doesn’t think he’d do something like that. He had promised her – again and again – that he would tell Robb and the others about their relationship and how in love they were with each other, but he never had. So maybe he _would_ say something with the simple task of hurting her and throwing her mistakes in her face.

 

She just doesn’t know – doesn’t know _him_ – and that drives her more crazy than she’s willing to admit.

 

The dorms on Winterfell University’s campus have their own cafeterias and the cafeteria in the student union is usually used by commuters. Therefore, it’s never that crowded with people, even at the usual time when most eat lunch.

 

“Remember, Brandon,” Sansa tells her as they approach the line. “You must stay at my side. Okay?”

 

Brandon nods obediently and she slowly – reluctantly – releases his hand so she can pull her mittens off with her teeth and then gathers a tray and enough napkins and silverware for both of them. She gently guides Brandon so he is standing in front of her and pulls on the top of his hat, smiling as he laughs at their game and clamps his mittens down on his head, wanting his hat to stay on. He then laughs harder as she skims her fingers down, tickling the side of his neck, and he tries to squirm away from her.

 

The line moves forward and Sansa helps herself, taking two plates of the fish and chips, knowing that Brandon, of course, won’t eat a whole adult serving, but what he doesn’t eat, she happily will. Holding the tray in one hand, she then puts a hand on Brandon’s head and gently guides him to the cash register so she can pay for everything. She stops at the last station and grabs two cups to be filled at the drink station against the wall once she has paid.

 

“Jon!” Brandon suddenly exclaims and Sansa nearly drops the tray before she can safely put it on the register’s checkout rack and Brandon rips away from her.

 

“Brandon!” She calls after the boy and her eyes frantically search for the man who Brandon has called to.

 

Jon is sitting at a table by himself, next to the window, a paperback in front of him that he has abandoned at the sound of Brandon shouting his name, and Sansa watches as Jon stands up and then crouches down, Brandon running right into his arms.

 

Sansa watches with a lump in her throat. Jon stands up, hefting Brandon up as he does, and he says something and pretends to shiver and Brandon’s laughter can be heard throughout the cafeteria. Jon then moves his eyes and sees Sansa standing at the register, watching them, and he begins to walk towards her. Brandon is chattering to him about something and Jon looks at him as he does, nodding and giving the toddler his full attention.

 

Sansa notices that her fingers are shaking as she struggles with pulling her credit card from her wallet.

 

She knows her son adores Jon. She’s always known that. All she has to do is watch Brandon when Jon’s over. Jon plays with him constantly; gets right down on the floor with him and plays with his train set or his dump trucks and dinosaurs. Jon even sat and watched nearly three hours of _Wallace and Gromit_ with him one evening when Catelyn had wanted to take Sansa out for dinner – “a girl’s night”, Catelyn had said with a smile – and there hadn’t been anyone else available to watch Brandon.

 

Sansa will always remember coming home that evening to find Jon and Brandon on the couch, the Claymation show on the television, Jon watching it and Brandon asleep on his chest, drooling on his shirt.

 

Jon hadn’t noticed her at first and Sansa had been able to stand there and just look at them for a moment. Sansa still remembers the feeling she had when she looked upon the scene; such an ache of longing in her chest, it had nearly made her want to melt to the floor in a pool of her own tears. She looked at Jon and Brandon on the couch and so many thoughts were screaming in her mind.

 

_What if Brandon had been Jon’s? What if Jon had said something and they had stayed together and had gotten married and had a child together? What if… what if… so many what ifs…_

So many pointless what ifs.

Sansa gets that feeling now, too – seeing Jon and Brandon and how much her son loves the only man who has ever had complete possession of her heart and hadn’t found it something worth having.

 

She then thinks of Val. She can’t help it. Even if Jon has told her that they’re not dating and are just coworkers, the fact is that Val is a beautiful woman. Very beautiful. And nice. Sansa almost hates how nice she is. When Sansa had showed her the breaker boxes a few days before, Val had been making jokes about turning off the wrong switch and term papers being typed on the computers upstairs being lost forever and having to run from a mob of angry college kids. Sansa had actually laughed and Val had thanked her again and again for taking the time out of her day to show her things.

 

She has thought of how she would feel if Jon and Val someday _do_ date one another. They’re both ridiculously attractive people. They both like working with their hands, doing the same kind of manual labor in the same construction field work. They have things in common. Val’s already met some of her family. If they begin dating, everyone will _know_ that they’re seeing each other.

 

“Hey,” Jon says once he has come and has stopped in front of her.

 

“Hi,” she manages to say. “Brandon Eddard Stark,” she then gives her son a fierce frown and at nearly three years old, Brandon has the wisdom to look both guilty and sorry.

 

“Sorry, mama,” he then says and then gives her his toothy grin that makes her melt – and he knows it, too, the little stinker.

 

Jon bends down, putting Brandon back to his feet. When he stands straight again, he is rubbing the back of his neck and looking at Sansa. Nervously, she notes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally able to meet her eyes with his.

 

“You’ve been saying that a lot to me lately,” Sansa feels the need to point out as she takes her credit card from the cashier and returns it to her wallet.

 

“Have I?” Jon asks and seems surprised, obviously honestly having no idea that he has. “Would you like…” He pauses and visibly swallows. “Would you and Brandon like to share my table with me?” He asks.

 

Sansa expects herself to refuse him, but before her mind can come up with a possible excuse as to why she and Brandon can’t sit with him in a cafeteria that’s near empty, she finds her head nodding in acceptance of the offer. And when she does, Jon seems to let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Let me help,” Jon offers and swiftly takes the tray before Sansa can stop him or protest.

 

“Brandon, go with Jon,” she tells the boy and Brandon happily skips off after him while Sansa takes the two cups and goes to the soda fountain station – apple juice for Brandon and lemonade for herself.

 

Sansa turns to see Jon swoop Brandon up and settle him down on a chair before crouching down next to him, helping him remove his scarf, hat, mittens and heavy winter coat. She takes a deep breath, as if preparing herself, wondering how she is going to get through an entire meal, being polite to Jon and talking with him. Normally, when he has his meals at the Stark home, everyone else is there and she usually sits on one end of the table – closer to her father – and Jon sits on the other end, closer to Robb and Catelyn. Maybe she can pretend to be so preoccupied with Brandon today. Or maybe Jon will not have anything to say to her either and they can pass their respected lunch hours in silence.

 

Deep down, Sansa knows that neither option seems appealing. And then she has to wonder _why_ neither does. Does she actually want to spend her lunch hour, sitting with Jon Snow and speaking with him? She wants to hate for the answer the tiny voice in her mind gives her. Hasn’t she already been hurt enough – and not just by Jon – in her life? Why would she _ever_ want to put herself in a position again for more hurt?

 

But she can see Jon sitting in his seat next to Brandon, putting one of the plates in front of him and he’s saying something to Brandon and Brandon is nodding in response and whatever Brandon is nodding to, it makes Jon crack a smile. An actual smile.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath and walks to the table, setting down Brandon’s cup of apple juice and he looks up at her with a smile and Sansa smiles, too, bending down and kissing him on the head. Sansa then walks around the table to sit down across from him. She is about to ask Brandon if he would like ketchup, but she sees that Jon has already gotten the bottle from the center of the table and has squirted a dollop of it onto Brandon’s plate.

 

“The big three,” Jon is saying to him. “What are you going to have for your birthday party?”

 

“Pirates!” Brandon exclaims, holding a French fry in each hand.

 

“That sounds like it’s going to be awesome,” Jon smiles at him. “And I bet your mom is spending all of her spare time on Pinterest, making sure you get the best pirate party,” he then says.

 

Sansa keeps her head down, concentrating on cutting off a piece of her fried fish and hoping that Jon isn’t able to see her blushing at his words. She’s embarrassed that this man can say _anything_ that can make her blush; not to mention that she hates that Jon still knows her so well to know that yes, she has been on Pinterest, getting ideas for pirate-themed birthday parties.

 

Her son only turns three once and he wants a pirate-themed party and that’s what he will have.

 

“Where are the others?” Sansa hears herself ask, lifting her head to look at Jon. “I believe you’re required by law to feed them lunch.”

 

Jon gives her his little smile at that. “Tormund saw a flier above the water fountain in the library about some all-you-can-eat pizza buffet so he, Edd and Val went there. I just wanted something quiet.”

 

Sansa nods knowingly and takes a moment to chew and swallow. “They might be useless to you for the rest of the day. The health board keeps shutting that place down, but somehow, it keeps reopening.”

 

Jon blinks at her for a moment to see if she’s kidding with him or not, but he seems to know that Sansa won’t kid; not with him. “Great,” he mutters and shakes his head at himself. “I was actually going to think that we were going to be ahead of schedule.”

 

Sansa isn’t sure what to say to that so she just keeps quiet. She still can’t actually believe that she’s sitting here, eating lunch with Jon Snow.

 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Sansa assures him. “I once saw Tormund eat two meatballs my mom dropped on the kitchen floor and he’s still alive.”

 

“I’m not going to tell your mom that you just compared her kitchen to some unsanitary pizza place that shouldn’t even be open in the first place,” Jon says with that same little smile and Sansa actually feels herself smiling, too.

 

To break herself from the mood of even smiling at Jon – let alone actually doing it – Sansa leans over the table and cuts up little pieces of one of Brandon’s pieces of fish for him to eat though he seems far more interested in eating all of his French fries. From the corner of her eye, she can see Jon looking at her; studying her with that intense look on his face and she wishes that he would stop. She honestly can’t stand the way he looks at her like that and it’s the only way he ever looks at her.

 

Jon shifts in his seat and pulls something from his back pocket. “Sansa,” he says her name and she instantly looks at him, sitting back in her seat. “I, um… I found something. I don’t know if you’ve seen it or if you wanted to see it, but I… I saw it and I thought of you. I thought it might help.”

 

Sansa frowns a little, confused, and Jon holds out a folded piece of paper. She takes it, slowly, almost as if she is afraid that it will burn her upon contact.

 

When she unfolds it and sees what it is, she drops it then as if that is exactly what it has done. “Jon-” she begins to say, her voice already hard.

 

“I know,” Jon quickly says. “I know it’s not my business. I know that, Sansa. But after what happened in the market-”

 

“I never asked you to be there. My mom called you,” Sansa snaps. “And you’re right. It’s not any of your business. You didn’t want anything to do with me, remember? You don’t get to have any say in anything that remotely has to do with me anymore.”

 

“Sansa, just because I…” He pauses as if he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “I still care about you,” he says quietly – as if he’s trying to counter her growing anger with a growing calmness and that does nothing except make Sansa angrier.

 

“Oh, you care about me. How sweet. I have enough people who care about me, Jon. I don’t need another,” she snaps with finality and drops the flyer for the Domestic Abuse Support Group that meets on the campus every Wednesday evening right here in the student union onto the table.

 

Maybe later, she’ll realize that he’s just trying to help, but right now, she’s just mad. Plain old mad.

 

He doesn’t get to try and help her. She doesn’t want it and she doesn’t need it. Especially from him.

 

“You’re right,” Jon says and his voice is so quiet now, she can barely hear him. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I… I overstepped the line. I just…”

 

“Come on, Brandon. Time to get back,” Sansa says in what she hopes is a cheerful tone – no matter how fake, hopefully Brandon can’t detect it – and begins gathering her things even though she is nowhere near finished eating and there is still a half hour left until she has to get back to the library.

 

“No,” Jon says and begins gathering his own things. “You two stay. I’ll go.”

 

Sansa clenches her jaw and stares down at her plate of food, blinking away the tears burning her eyes. She can’t tell if they’re tears of anger or tears of pain, but she thinks that it might be a mixture of both.

 

She can hear Jon standing up, putting on his coat, bundling himself back up, and he picks up his book and his own tray.

 

“Bye, Jon!” Brandon exclaims happily, having absolutely no idea about the tension at the table now.

 

“Bye, Little Stark,” Jon says quietly and Sansa clenches her eyes shut.

 

She has no desire to cry in front of Jon or Brandon or anyone. She hopes she can make it back to the staff bathroom in the library until she completely breaks down because she knows it’s going to happen.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says from beside her. Sansa won’t look at him. “I keep saying I’m sorry to you because I am. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. For everything. I know you hate me and blame me for everything. For Ramsay. And you should and I know that saying I’m sorry won’t fix anything, but I don’t know what else to say. There’s just too much to say,” he whispers that last part.

 

He doesn’t wait to see if she’ll say anything in response to that. He knows that she won’t.

 

Once he has said what he wants to say, he simply turns and Sansa can sense him walking away.

 

Despite her best efforts, Sansa feels one tear escape from her eye and now slowly rolls down her cheek.

 

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worry that it seems like no progress is being made and people will start getting impatient with me, but we are. I swear we are. I have things planned out, good things, for Jon and Sansa. I promise. Thank you so much for your love and support for this story. It continues to blow me away.


	7. Seven

…

 

**Seven.**

 

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sansa asks as Robb holds Brandon upside down by his ankles, the toddler squealing with absolute delight, his face turning red with laughter. “Robb,” she then says with a slight warning in her tone towards her older brother.

 

“Relax, Sans,” Robb gives a grin as he gently drops Brandon down onto the sofa. “See? No dropping him on his head,” he says and Brandon is still laughing hysterically and Sansa can’t help, but smile, too. “And no, I don’t mind. I think I can manage babysitting my favorite nephew for a couple hours. I have to go to the market anyway for a couple of things anyway and I can use the company.”

 

That makes Sansa pause as she tries to fix Brandon’s hair once again. She looks at Robb with a raised eyebrow and amused smirk pulling at her lips. “Oh, really? The same market in my neighborhood? What’s wrong with the market in _your_ neighborhood?” She asks, knowing full well why he wants to go to her particular market and it has nothing to do with Robb being a grown man and Catelyn still buying most of his groceries because if she didn’t, he would only live on takeaway from various restaurants. “Are you looking to buy some flowers, maybe, to spruce up your place?” She asks.

 

“Fine, you figured it out. Grand prize for you,” Robb says, collapsing down onto the sofa beside Brandon.

 

Sansa smiles as she goes to collect her coat from the tiny front closet. “I don’t know if I like using my son to pick up women.”

 

“Not women. Just woman,” Robb corrects her. “And Brandon will be great. He is a Stark, after all. We are all just naturally oozing with charm.”

 

“I do not give you permission to train my son in the ways of being a playboy,” Sansa informs him.

 

“Too late, Sans,” Robb gives her a grin. “It’s already happening. It’s _natural_.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes and finishes zipping up and buttoning her coat and then wraps her scarf around her neck a few times. Forgoing her mittens for a moment, she does to the sofa and kneels down in front of Brandon, the boy’s flushed face finally returning to its normal creamy shade – the same as hers – and his laughter subsiding. He is now staring at the television where one of his cartoons is showing, but when Sansa kneels in front of him, he turns his head to look at her and Sansa gives him a smile.

 

“You’ll be good for your Uncle Robb?” She asks him.

 

“Yep!” Brandon readily agrees with a grin and Sansa smiles, leaning in and kissing his forehead.

 

After she does, she rests her forehead against his and they stare into one another’s eyes.

 

Brandon giggles and Sansa smiles.

 

“I’ll just be gone for a couple of hours and when I get back, it’ll be bath time,” she tells him and his beaming smile in response to that makes her kiss his forehead once more.

 

“Just a couple of hours?” Robb asks as Brandon then leans forward and slides his arms around Sansa’s neck, giving her a squeezing hug, and Sansa smiles and closes her eyes and hugs him back.

 

Sansa gives a nod once they break apart and she stands up again. “Just something I have to see to back on the campus that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

 

“So, it’s not a date?” Robb asks with his eyebrows raised.

 

“Why would you think I was going on a date?” Sansa says, a mixture of both surprise and confusion. She hasn’t done or said anything that she thought would lead Robb to believe that she was ever going on a date. Going on a date has never even crossed her mind. She doubts it ever will again.  

 

Robb shrugs and stands up, too, his hands being shoved into his jean pockets. “Because…” he begins to say, but then trails off with a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I was just hoping.”

 

Sansa doesn’t want to talk about this; her dating life is about on the same level as Ramsay as favorite topics for her to discuss. She knows her family worries, but she knows that they also wonder when she’ll “bounce back”; as if what happened to her and what she went through is something to bounce back from.

 

How can her family ever expect her to trust another man to be around not only her, but Brandon, too? Sansa knows that she’ll probably never be with anyone ever again and it’s not even because just the thought of someone besides herself seeing her naked and seeing how her body looks beneath her clothes makes her break into a cold sweat. It’s because her life isn’t just about her anymore. Her _entire_ life is about Brandon and what kind of mom would she be if she just brings a strange man – or men – around him?

 

Yes, she sometimes gets lonely, but all she has to do to cure that is stand in front of the mirror in just her bra and underwear so she can look at her body and remind herself that being lonely is perfectly fine. Being lonely means that she’s still alive and Brandon is alive and safe and who cares about being lonely?

 

Sansa ignores Robb’s comment and kisses him on the cheek and then kisses Brandon’s head once more. “I’ll be back soon,” she promises them both; mostly Brandon.

 

“Have fun, working, at seven o’clock on a Wednesday night,” Robb says dryly, walking her to the door.

 

“And don’t forget to let Lady out in the backyard at least once,” Sansa says as she pulls on her mittens as she steps onto the small front porch. “And _no_ pudding cups for Brandon. He had his chocolate graham cracker for dessert after his supper earlier and that’s all he gets. Got it, Uncle Robb? He’ll be up for all hours tonight if he has any sugar now.”

 

Robb just grins. “Why would I care about that? _You’d_ be the one who would have to deal with trying to get a hyper toddler into bed, not me. Have fun tonight!”

 

And with that, he closes the door practically in her face. Sansa sighs and rolls her eyes and heads down the steps to her car that she has left parked in the driveway. Despite Robb’s joking, she knows he won’t feed Brandon anything he’s not supposed to. Despite his boasts of being the coolest uncle in the world, Robb knows better than to mess around with any of Brandon’s routines. He had to deal with Mama Bear Sansa once when he let baby Brandon take a sip of his Coke and everyone knows that Robb survived Mama Bear Sansa that first time and he isn’t looking to meet her again.

 

After her car is warmed up enough, Sansa pulls out of the driveway and begins making the familiar drive back to Winterfell University, focusing on her breathing the entire time. Deep inhales and deep exhales. Slow and steady and doing everything she can think of doing to keep her heart from pounding straight out of her chest.

 

She still can’t quite believe she’s doing this and she wonders _why_ she is doing this – after all of this time. The flier Jon had tried to give her during their lunch for the domestic abuse support group that meets on campus, it isn’t the first time she has seen it. There are bulletin boards throughout the Library with all sorts of fliers stapled to them and that is one of the more constant ones. Sansa is well aware of their existence, but she has never paid attention to the hot pink piece of paper until Jon tried to hand it to her.

 

And now, she’s driving back to campus to go to the meeting scheduled for tonight and she has no idea _why_ , after all of this time, she is finally even considering this.

 

The voice in the back of her mind reminds her though that she has to try _something_ , because what she’s doing now – which is doing nothing – isn’t helping her. She had fainted in the middle of the market, completely taken over with such paralyzing fear, she hadn’t been able to anything do in response except faint in the middle of the store, scaring her young son half to death. _That_ is why she’s finally doing something. She can’t scare Brandon like that again.

 

She doesn’t want her son to ever know what it’s like to be scared.

 

…

 

“Sansa?”

 

Sansa lifts her head, pulling herself from her deep thoughts, to see that Tormund is standing a few feet away from her, and once he sees that it is, in fact, her, the man breaks into a wide grin.

 

“I thought that was you,” he says, taking steps closer to her, still smiling.

 

He looks to the Student Union, brightly lit against the black night, that he has just walked from and then to her, sitting on a bench outside despite the frigid temperature.

 

He closes the rest of the distance to stand beside the bench. “May I?” He asks with a politeness that she’s only witnessed when he’s speaking with her mother, thanking Catelyn for fixing dinner for him, Jon and Edd when they are working late on a job and Catelyn always worries about everyone not eating enough.

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything and she nods, scooting over just a bit to give him more room. The man plops down next to her and releases a great sigh before looking back to her with his ever-present smile.

 

“It gets easier,” he then says and Sansa’s eyes fly to his face. “I remember the first meeting I tried to go to, I think I made it to this exact spot before I stopped and couldn’t go any further. Took me two more tries before I actually got my arse through those doors.”

 

Sansa’s brow furrows a bit at that, not too sure what he is talking about, and he gives her a little smile before reaching into his coat pocket, pulling something out. He’s not wearing gloves and Sansa wonders if he can actually feel his fingers, but he seems to be doing alright as he holds up a plastic chip between his fingers for her to see.

 

“Three months sober. Just got it tonight,” Tormund says proudly.

 

Sansa breaks into a smile. “Tormund, that’s so wonderful.” She leans forward and hugs the man. “I had no idea…” she then trails off and Tormund keeps holding the chip for her to take. She does. It is bronze with a “3” printed in the middle. And on the back, she recognizes the Serenity prayer.

 

“Best thing I’ve ever done for myself. Jon was actually the one to finally get me inside,” Tormund says. “I don’t know the whole story, but I guess, a few years back, he was in a bit of a bad spot. Drinking all of the time, waking up and not knowing where he was. I know your brother had to pick him up from God knows where every time Jon finally woke up and could call him.”

 

Sansa blinks at him. “What?” She whispers. She then shakes her head slightly. “Jon?”

 

Jon, drinking until he blacks out? That’s not him. That’s never been him.

 

“He doesn’t do it anymore, obviously. Finally cleaned his act up a couple of years ago. About the time you came home, actually. I remember because I was telling him that we should go out and celebrate – even though I had no idea who you were, but I was always looking for a reason to celebrate something – and that was actually the first time I could remember Jon turning me down. Took a bit longer for me to hit my own bottom.”

 

Sansa feels her head spinning a bit and she looks down to her lap.

 

That’s a bit information overload and she’s not too sure what to think or do with it.

 

A few years back? So, did that mean that Jon had begun drinking and it getting out of hand when they broke up? And did he really sober himself up just because she had come home, finally, from Ramsay?

 

No, that can’t be right. Tormund probably is mixing things up. What, she can’t be sure, but there’s just no way that any of the time period Tormund had just given her is right. And if it is, it really doesn’t make sense. Why would breaking up with her make Jon drink so out of control like that?

 

“You don’t have to tell me, love, but if you need a sponsor-” Tormund begins to say.

 

Sansa quickly shakes her head and gives him a small smile. “Thank you, Tormund, but I wasn’t here tonight for AA.”

 

“I didn’t think so. Can’t imagine you drinking with your little one around, but you can never know.”

 

“No, I’m… I’m here for another meeting. Domestic abuse,” she whispers the last two words as if someone else is sitting with them and she doesn’t want anyone else to know her secret. “I… I thought I could do it. The whole time, driving here, I told myself that I was _going_ to do it.”

 

Tormund leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, and he turns his head back to look at her. “Maybe next time,” he replies with a small smile.

 

Sansa shakes her head though. “I don’t know. I know if I go in, everyone in the room has been through what I went through so it’s not like I’m the only one in there who’s been through it, but still…”

 

“You feel like a failure at life, all the same. I get it,” Tormund says and Sansa realizes that he really does.

 

She swallows the thickness in her throat and lowers her eyes from his. She is still holding his chip in her mittens and she turns it slowly over and over, concentrating on looking at it from every angle.

 

“I don’t know if this helps, but you can look at it this way. It’s not a support group. It’s a survivors meeting because you and everyone else who goes are exactly that. You’ve all survived true shites of the world and no one should be able to keep you from celebrating being complete bad-asses.”

 

Sansa isn’t sure why, but his words are what causes her to release a shaky breath and before she can stop herself, her shoulders begin to shake and she tries to control her breathing before she can start crying. Tormund sits up next to her once again and his arms slip around her, pulling her side into his chest, and he holds onto her as she closes her eyes and rests her head to his shoulder. His beard tickles her forehead and she’s not sure why, but it almost makes her smile.

 

She’s not sure how long it takes, but eventually, her breathing returns to normal and she’s proud of herself for not having a single tear escaping her eyes. Tormund holds her the entire time without complaint or showing any signs of discomfort. She’s so used to the flirty, boisterous Tormund. This is an entirely different side to him that she hadn’t even known he existed. She finds herself liking it.

 

“What time do you have to get back to your little one?” Tormund asks.

 

Sansa pulls back slightly so she can look to the large clock above the front doors of the union. “I have an hour. Robb is babysitting him for me and he was going to try and pick up a woman.”

 

Tormund grins at that. “Women love single men with babies,” he agrees and Sansa rolls her eyes at that. It makes Tormund let out a loud laugh and she finds herself smiling. “Hey. Speak to your women. Don’t blame us men for knowing what works for us.”

 

“There’s the Tormund I know and love,” Sansa quips.

 

“Love, heh? I knew it. I knew you were hiding your true feelings for me. If I had a dollar for every time Jon glared at me when I talked about your love for me, I wouldn’t have to work for him anymore, that’s for sure.”

 

Sansa doesn’t respond to that and they both get to their feet without discussing it. She hands him back his sobriety chip and Tormund slips it back into his pocket.

 

“Would you like to get some hot chocolate with me?” Tormund asks her properly and she nearly giggles.

 

It’s been such a long time since anyone has asked her anything like that and though she knows she has absolutely not feelings towards Tormund except those of friendship, she finds her insides fluttering nonetheless. She had forgotten how nice it could feel to be asked something as innocently as her company and hot chocolate.

 

“I would love to,” Sansa nods with a smile and Tormund grins.

 

Again, without discussing it, they begin walking side-by-side down one of the sidewalks, heading towards the small coffee shop on campus.

 

“I have a very important question for you, Sansa,” Tormund breaks the silence and despite not wanting to, Sansa can’t seem to help herself.

 

She stiffens. She knows he won’t and yet, she’s expecting him to ask about why she has to go to a meeting for domestic abuse survivors.

 

“Who is your favorite Beatle?” He asks.

 

Sansa lets out a laugh before she can stop herself. “ _That_ is your very important question?”

 

Tormund grins and shrugs. “You can tell a lot from a person’s favorite Beatle.”

 

She honestly thinks the question over for a moment though she had known her answer instantly. “George,” she replies.

 

“I was _not_ expecting that one,” Tormund admits.

 

“Let’s see for you. Ringo?” Sansa guesses and laughs when Tormund’s grin splits his face.

 

“Love me some _Octopus Garden_ ,” he says and then laughs himself at the face Sansa makes at that. “Not a fan of that one then?” He jokes.

 

“It’s just probably my least favorite song in the whole Beatles catalog,” she quips. “And George wrote _While My Guitar Gently Weeps_ , one of the most perfect songs in the existence of music.”

 

“I’m thinking I might have to give that one another listen then,” Tormund says and looks at her from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t guess that you would actually know and have opinions on The Beatles.”

 

Sansa lifts an eyebrow at that. “And yet, you ask me Beatles questions?”

 

She realizes she is still smiling and she actually can’t remember the last time she has smiled this much and for this long around someone who isn’t Brandon.

 

Tormund shrugs and then takes a step ahead so he can reach the coffee shop door first and hold it open for her. “It’s a good filter question. If I’m not sure of a girl’s age, I ask her that question. If I’m not sure if a girl is just going to be a one-night thing or possibly _two_ nights, I ask her that question. It’s a very important question, Sansa.” And he says it with such solemnity, Sansa breaks out into more laughter. “And the way you were just able to carry the conversation on with actual knowledge? Well, now, I’m pretty sure we’re soul mates.”

 

“Oh, are we?” Sansa teases. “Just think of our red-headed children.”

 

“I think of them often, love,” Tormund gives her a grin and a wink and he pulls out his wallet as they stand in line at the counter. “But, sadly, nothing can come of it, my sweet Sansa.”

 

“Oh?” She lets out a slight laugh. “And why is that?”

 

“Simple really. I love Jon like he’s my brother and I can’t do anything remotely like that to him,” Tormund replies as casually as if he's giving her a weather report and then when he steps up to the counter to order their hot chocolates, Sansa feels as if her feet has taken root to her spot on the floor and she’s not able to move.

 

She wonders if she'll ever be able to move again.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, but a lot was actually crammed into this chapter and I absolutely love it. I hope you do, too!


	8. Eight

…

 

**Eight.**

Her dad makes sure to send her a text when he’s nearly there and Sansa texts back to _not_ ring the doorbell. Brandon has been in a mood most of the day and she’s finally gotten him laid down for his afternoon nap, Sansa nearly collapsing with exhaustion herself, but Ned had asked her the night before if he could stop by today and Sansa couldn’t very well tell him that he couldn’t.

 

When she sees her dad’s car pull into the driveway, she opens the front door and unlocks the screen door for him and then ushers Lady into the kitchen and through the backdoor out into the backyard. Lady obviously knows her dad, but Lady gets excited with visitors she knows and when she gets excited, she barks and that is the absolute last thing that Sansa needs the dog to do right now.

 

Coming back inside, she sees her dad has already entered the house.

 

Sansa begins hurrying around the living room, picking up toys and pieces of fabric alike. With the house being so small, there isn’t any excess amount of space so at the moment, Sansa has her sewing machine and dress form shoved into the corner of the living room until she figures out a better place to put them.

 

“I’m sorry things are a bit of a mess right now,” she gives her dad an embarrassed smile and Ned just shakes his head.  

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I like that,” Ned then says, nodding towards the new dress she is working on that she has carefully placed on the couch when she heard his car.

 

With Brandon napping – _finally_ – Sansa had wanted to keep him that way and hadn’t wanted the sewing machine to disturb him. Instead, she had taken the dress and sitting on the couch, watching an old episode of _Project Runway_ that she has on DVD, she has been working on hand stitching the beading on the new dress for herself is sewing.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says, blushing a little as she goes to collect it and carefully slip it back onto the dress form. She smooths it down and then takes a step back, looking at it in its entirety. It’s dark blue with long sleeves and it will fall to her knees. The skirt will swing and the tiny beads she is sewing into the bodice will catch the lights like tiny diamonds. “It’s going to be for your anniversary dinner,” she says with one final look before turning towards Ned.

 

Ned, however, is still staring at the dress. He shakes his head slightly. “It never ceases to amaze you what you can do,” he says and then looks to Sansa, the pride evident in her eyes.

 

Sansa’s blush deepens and she shrugs. “It’s just a dress,” she murmurs though inside, she feels the warmth of her father’s compliments.

 

She has always loved sewing and had been doing it since she was around six, watching her mother knit and begging her to teach her. And from then, any spare moment she had was spent sewing and designing and making clothes. She is completely self-taught and had thought about attending a fashion school, but she had convinced herself that getting a degree in something more practical was better. She regrets that now – and not just because the university was where she met Ramsay. She has always believed in things happening for a reason and she was _supposed_ to be Brandon’s mom and there wouldn’t be Brandon without Ramsay, so unfortunately, Sansa supposes she would have met him in some other way if she had gone to fashion school instead of Winterfell University.

 

“We should find you something other than working in that library-” Ned begins to say, but Sansa is quick to cut him off before he can utter another word.

 

“Is that why you wanted to stop by?” Sansa can’t help, but bristle slightly at the idea.

 

She knows her mom and dad love her – she has absolutely no doubt in her mind; not after these past few years – and only want the best for her and for her to be happy, but talking about her career or life in general are definitely _not_ her favorite conversations. She thinks she’s doing pretty well for herself. She has a good job – in her major, which she knows is not something everyone is lucky enough to find upon graduating – and she is able to have Brandon in a daycare center right on campus, near her. Her job is why she’s able to afford her own home. There’s no way she has any desire to quit her job for something as uncertain as fashion.

 

Loving fashion had been something a stupid naïve girl had loved. She’s not that girl anymore and when she sews now, it’s only because she wants clothes for herself and her son that she can’t find anywhere else that will fit into their small budget.

 

Her dad knows all of this. At least, Sansa _thinks_ he knows. She can’t remember if she’s ever said anything to that extent to her mom or dad. It doesn’t matter if she has or not though.

 

She hears another slam of a car door. Or a trunk.

 

“Actually, I stopped by because I wanted to discuss your birthday present,” Ned smiles.

 

Sansa’s brow furrows. “But my birthday isn’t for another month…” she begins to say as if Ned needs reminding and actually, she’s usually the one who needs reminding.

 

Brandon and her just so happen to share the same birthday month and Sansa gets so swept away in preparing for Brandon’s birthday, she completely forgets her own until her mom or Arya call, asking her what day they’re going out for lunch or dinner to the restaurant of her choice.

 

And then her entire body stiffens when she sees Jon step onto the front porch. Even though the front door is open and he can see, through the screen door, Sansa and Ned standing in the living room, he knocks anyway. Ned gives him a smile and goes to open the door for him. Jon steps across the threshold, hesitantly, his eyes immediately going to Sansa. She sees him carrying his toolbox in his hand. With her brow still furrowed, she looks back to Ned.

 

“What’s going on?” She asks.

 

Ned just keeps smiling. “Your mother and I have been thinking. We know you don’t have that much room to spare in here, but you _do_ need more room for your sewing.”

 

“Okay,” Sansa says the word slowly. She’s not disagreeing. She just doesn’t understand.

 

Ned looks to Jon. “So, what are you thinking?”

 

Sansa nearly gasps, but she’s able to control herself and she clamps her lips together instead. She shouldn’t be surprised.

 

Jon has always been good at his hands. He was one of the few in their high school who actually signed up for woodshop class because he wanted to take it and not just for an easy A. And then a couple years ago, with a small loan from Ned and Catelyn Stark, Jon was able to start up his own business and within the first year, he had been so successful, he had been able to hire Tormund and Edd and now Val. Sansa wonders about Tormund’s timeline that he had revealed to her a few nights earlier and if Jon had gone to her parents for the money when he was well and sober again; if her parents knew about his drinking, but she couldn’t imagine that they _didn’t_ know. Especially if Robb had to pick him up so often after a night that had him drinking so much, he blacked out somewhere where he didn’t know.

 

Over the years, anytime Ned or Catelyn needed any work done on their home, the first call always has gone to Jon and Snow Construction. She shouldn’t be surprised that Ned has done the same today.

 

“Well,” Jon says after a moment and looks to Sansa. “I’m not going to build up so the only option really, if it’s alright with you…” he begins to say and then stops himself. “May I?” He tilts his head slightly towards the kitchen and Sansa nods her head, knowing she doesn’t have much choice right now; not with Ned there and she doesn’t want to insult her dad and his idea of a present.

 

Jon Snow in her home is _not_ a present. Having his presence and his warmth and his _smell_ in her home, what she considers to be her safe place, is not a present. She knows it’s freezing outside, but she’s seriously considering opening all of the windows to air the place out once he’s gone again. She can bundle Brandon up. He will probably be delighted, thinking it’s some sort of game.

 

Sansa nearly shakes her head at herself. She’s being absolutely ridiculous and petty. And ridiculous.

 

She follows Jon and Ned into the kitchen. Lady is on the back step and can see them through the glass patio door. She wags her tail at the sight of them and begins barking. Sansa winces and quickly looks over her shoulder, as if expecting Brandon to be standing there.

 

“I’ll go keep her quiet,” Ned offers, able to read his daughter’s mind.

 

And with that, he unlocks and slips out the patio door, closing the door behind him once again so not too much of the cold seeps into the warm house, and Sansa smiles as she sees Lady bouncing all over Ned and Ned laughing in response.

 

Jon sets his toolbox down on the floor and takes out his tape measure. She watches him as he measures the patio door – the height and the width – and though he’s bundled up in his coat, Sansa has no problem imagining the muscles of his body moving.

 

“What are you thinking?” She hears herself ask.

 

Jon is quiet for another moment and he takes a step back to look at the patio doors and she knows he’s imagining what he wants to do just as she steps back from the dress form when she’s designing, taking a moment to imagine the finished dress she is working on.

 

Jon then turns to look at her. His hair is pulled back in its man-bun and she can see the scar above his right eyebrow. The result of a fight at a pub one night is all she knows about it. And now, having spoken to Tormund and finding things out about Jon she probably never would have known otherwise, Sansa now doesn’t question the truth of the story.

 

“I have a couple of ideas. Whichever you decide is best,” Jon says and she nods. “A small sunroom. I’ll build it out from the patio doors and I won’t make it so big that Brandon and Lady lose their backyard. Just big enough for you to have room to do your work. Windows on all three sides and maybe windows on the roof, too. I know how much you love natural light.”

 

Sansa looks out the patio doors as he speaks, beginning to imagine it herself.

 

She could be out in the sunroom, sewing, and she can smell dinner cooking in the oven – she loves roasting a chicken on particularly blistering days – and she can see Brandon playing with his toys, warm in the sun that shines through the windows in the roof.

 

“Your parents have already told me price doesn’t matter, but I can’t actually listen to them on that,” Jon gives his head a little shake. “The other option is the shed in the back of your yard, fixing that up.”

 

Sansa shakes her head. “No. The sunroom. The sunroom sounds… it sounds beautiful, Jon,” she tells him honestly. Why lie about that? It really does.

 

“I’ve already made a few sketches…” Jon goes back to his toolbox and Sansa quickly looks away when he crouches down so she doesn’t look at his ass in his jeans.

 

She doesn’t want to look at his ass. Jon Snow’s ass. Yuck.

 

Real mature, Sansa, she nearly rolls her eyes at herself for that one.

 

He stands up again, with a few sheets of paper in his hand, and he turns towards her. Their eyes instantly lock and Sansa feels her heart seize in her chest. She knows she looks like a mess right now – black leggings and an oversized gray wool sweater with thick wool socks on her feet with her hair pulled up into a ponytail and not a stitch of makeup on. It’s the perfect outfit to be home with her son on a cold Saturday. So why is she crossing her arms over her chest as if she’s embarrassed to be having Jon see her like this? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Whatever Jon is thinking, she doesn’t care.

 

She watches the way his eyes slowly leave her face and they slowly drag down her body and she instantly feels a thousand degrees warmer. She notices that his eyes are practically black as he takes in the sight of her and she was more than well aware of that particular look. Despite the heat she now feels, she almost shivers, but she can do nothing, but tighten her arms across her chest and she can’t look away from him as his eyes slowly move down her body.

 

It’s been a long time since someone has looked at her like that; like they want to eat her up. She supposes Ramsay looked at her with a hunger in his eyes, but she now knows that he would have liked to _actually_ eat her. Jon, though, is looking at her like that like he truly desires her; like she’s beautiful and like he can’t imagine ever wanting anything else, but her.

 

It’s exactly how he used to look like her. Sansa can never forget the look Jon used to give her.

 

“Sorry,” Jon seems to realize that he’s just staring at her. “I, uh, that sweater…” he trails off and it takes Sansa a second to realize what he’s talking about.

 

_“Why is your place always freezing?” Sansa shivers, rolling herself into a tighter ball beneath the piles of blankets. Jon has already grabbed every blanket he could find in the flat and he has now pulled himself from the bed again and she doesn’t know how he can only be wearing a pair of sweatpants and not shivering.. “I’m sorry,” she says as he goes to his closet. “I don’t mean to complain.”_

_“If you don’t say anything, I won’t know. I’m used to it being cold. I don’t want you to freeze whenever you’re here,” Jon assures her. “I want you to feel at home here.” He takes something down from one of the hangers and crawls back into the bed, making Sansa laugh when he crawls right over her. He nestles down next to her, smiling. “It’s my thickest sweater. It’ll keep you warm until round two.”_

_Sansa sees him holding the grey wool sweater out to her and she instantly smiles, sitting up enough to tug it on over her head. “Round two. You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she then laughs._

_“Try to resist me, Sansa Stark,” Jon teases her with an actual smile and he lifts his hands, sliding them back into her hair, tugging her face closer to his, and because Jon is smiling, Sansa’s smile only grows bigger._

“I can… I’ll go take it off and I’ll wash it before I get it back to you,” she says, her face flushing now.

 

She can’t believe that she’s wearing Jon’s sweater in front of Jon.

 

She had never meant to keep it for herself. It’s just one of those things that happened. He gave her the sweater to wear when she had been spending the night and she just never thought to give it back. She won’t even think about telling him how much she wears it during her down-time like this; how that first night after getting away from Ramsay and sleeping in her childhood bed again, how she had pulled this sweater on, curled herself into a ball and just cried and cried.

 

“No,” Jon quickly jumps in and then takes a step towards her before abruptly stopping himself. “Don’t, don’t give it back to me. I want you to keep it.”

 

Sansa hugs herself a little tighter. “Okay,” she says quietly, staring down at the floor. “Thank you.”

 

She feels embarrassed and not just because he sees her wearing his sweater, but because for a moment, before she realized that she was wearing someone of his, she had thought that he had actually wanted her; that she had told herself that she saw desire in his eyes. For her.

 

And then she feels disappointment, too; almost as if she had wanted him to actually desire her. Why would she want that though? She doesn’t want anyone. Not just Jon, but anyone. She has Brandon and that will be enough for her. It _is_ enough and it will be for the rest of her life.

 

“Sansa,” Jon then says her name, almost hoarsely, and she lifts her eyes once again to look at him.

 

He is staring at her and nothing, but her, and she’s not imagining how dark his eyes are as they rest on her. He is clenching his jaw so tightly, she can see the twitch of his facial muscles and she lets out gasp as he suddenly strides forward, closing the space between them. She hasn’t been this close to him in years, and suddenly, he’s _here_ , so close, their chests are touching and his nose brushes against her as his hands grasp her hips and he stares into her eyes.

 

Sansa can’t move. She can’t breathe. All she can do is look into his eyes, her lips parted slightly with surprise. Through the thickness of the sweater, she can feel her hips – and then the rest of her body – explode into a fire from his hands touching her. It’s been so long that a man has touched her like this. Jon isn’t touching her to cause her pain. He’s not hitting her or purposely trying to bruise her. His hands are warm and heavy as they rest on her hips and she thinks of what lays beneath his hands; what he can’t see on her body through her clothes.

 

Would he still touch her then if he knew? Why is he touching her now?

 

So much time has passed and why now has he suddenly wanted to touch her again. Her dad is right outside, still playing with Lady. It’s impossible that Jon has forgotten that. Ned can walk back in any second now and see Jon and Sansa standing as close as they are with Jon’s hands on her hips. It’s intimate and familiar and Sansa wants to point out to him that he can’t touch her like this – that she doesn’t want him touching her like this (right? She questions herself) – but the words stick in her throat and she can’t give a voice to them and all she can do is stare into his eyes as he stares into hers.

 

She watches as he opens his mouth and then hears him say just above a whisper, “I love you, Sansa.”

 

It’s like a bucket of ice water, nearly instantly extinguishing the fire he had swept over her body.

 

Brandon begins crying from his room. “Mama!” He calls out.

 

Sansa shakes her head, putting her hands over Jon’s and pushing them away, allowing herself the ability to take a step back. She feels tears sting her eyes as she looks at Jon and he stares at her.

 

“I used to dream about you saying those words to me again. When I was with Ramsay…” she struggles to swallow and to steady her voice. “I used to dream about you coming to rescue me and telling me that you love me and keeping me safe from everyone and everything. But that never happened. You didn’t want me then Jon. You haven’t wanted me for years. Looking back on it, I don’t think you ever wanted me.”

 

“Sansa-” Jon begins to say and takes a step towards her, but Sansa shakes her head again and takes a step back to maintain the same amount of space between them.

 

“Mama!” Brandon cries out again – louder.

 

“This whole time, I thought I didn’t want anything more than for you to tell me that you love me, but it’s…” she begins blinking, hoping it will keep the tears from falling; at least in Jon’s presence. “It doesn’t change anything, Jon.”

 

“Sansa, I love you,” Jon says again, his tone pleading, and takes another steps towards her, his hands reaching out to take one of hers, but just as he takes hold of it, she pulls it away and steps back.

 

Without another word or look to him, she turns and leaves the kitchen, crossing the hallway and going into Brandon’s bedroom, where he is standing up in his crib, and Sansa lifts him up, ignoring her own tears as she hushes her son and rocks him in her arms. And with Brandon crying – scared because he woke up, not knowing where he was – Sansa can focus on his tears and forget her own.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have plans for a jealous Jon that makes me very excited and some Sansa/Catelyn that will reveal more of Jon's past during the years when he and Sansa weren't together. Thank you everyone for everything! The comments being left on these chapters are giving me life!


	9. Nine

…

 

**Nine.**

There are so many people over at the Stark house that evening for dinner, they eat at the large dining room table and bring in the chairs from the kitchen table so everyone can fit. There is Ned and Catelyn, and Rickon, of course, since he is the youngest and the last Stark to still live at home. Sansa and Brandon are there, Bran and his fiancée, Meera, and Jon is there that evening as well, with Tormund, Edd and Val all having been invited along. And with such a crowd, Catelyn decided to just make things easy on herself and make spaghetti and garlic bread. Robb will be joining them as well, but he’s stuck in the office for the moment, finishing up something that can’t wait until tomorrow.

 

And while Sansa completely understands her mom’s reasoning behind the menu, spaghetti with a toddler is always a disaster.

 

Most of dinner, she spends as much time as trying to keep Brandon from making a complete disaster as she does actually eating her own food. Lady, however, has planted herself beneath the table, right at Brandon’s feet, and absolutely loves when Brandon eats spaghetti since the boy giggles and happily drops noodles and bits of bread onto the floor and the dog happily gobbles every morsel.

 

“Brandon,” Sansa does her best to not sigh with impatience as she once again adjusts his bib that he keeps trying to take off. He is beginning to insist that he’s too old for a bib, but his face at mealtimes always tells her something differently.

 

“No, mama!” Brandon exclaims, twisting himself to and fro, making her job much more difficult, and Sansa takes a deep breath, not wanting to snap at him. She obviously doesn’t want to raise a bratty, spoiled child and she always disciplines Brandon when the moment calls for it, but it’s certainly not her favorite thing to do as a parent.

 

“Brandon, stop,” Sansa tells him in as firm a tone as she feels comfortable using with him. “You need to wear your bib or I’m going to take you away from everyone. Is that what you want?”

 

“Brandon, bib,” Ned tries to help, speaking to his grandson in a firm tone, but it doesn’t seem to make much a difference with Brandon, considering he picks up his one of his small bits of garlic bread, mostly covered in sauces, and tosses it right at Sansa.

 

It bounces off her chin and then splatters down her shirt.

 

“Brandon Eddard Stark,” Sansa frowns fiercely at him at the same time Ned and Catelyn both say “Brandon” and Brandon looks immediately apologetic at her, but she gives him a heavy sigh and stands up. “Meera,” she looks to Bran’s fiancée, who is sitting on the other side of Brandon’s high chair. “Can you watch him for a moment?”

 

“Of course,” Meera smiles and wipes at her face with her napkin before turning a little bit in her seat so she’s facing Brandon more.

 

“Hey, Little Stark.” Both Brandon and Sansa look to Jon, sitting across the table from them. “Look at me.” Jon then tucks a napkin into his shirt. “See? I’m wearing a bib. I love wearing a bib.”

 

Brandon blinks at him as if he’s never seen such a thing. But then he giggles and Jon smiles a little.

 

“Tormund definitely needs a bib, too,” Val quips before she takes a napkin and tucks it into Tormund’s shirt and Tormund gives a grin, making Brandon giggle again, and this time, when Sansa bends down, adjusting Brandon’s bib one more time, the boy lets her.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says to them all and she can feel Jon looking at her, but she doesn’t look at him – she doesn’t look at anyone – as she leaves the dining room, heading up the stairs.

 

In the bedroom that used to be hers up until just a few weeks ago, she wonders if she has left any shirts behind that she can change into. She normally would have left the lights off as she changed so she didn’t have to look at herself, but needing to see what she has as options, she turns on the small lamp on the bedside table, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow.

 

She closes the door behind her and pulls her shirt off over her head. She then holds it up in front of her and can’t help, but sigh when she sees the splotches of tomato sauce. It’s not the first time Brandon has thrown food at her. Far from it, but still, he’s in a mood tonight and she doesn’t know what is setting him off. He’s usually well-behaved; as well-behaved as a toddler can be, but Sansa knows that she’s been blessed because when she’s out in the shops or somewhere else public, she has seen quite a few bratty children. Perhaps it’s a full moon out tonight.

 

She sets the shirt down on the bed and then walks to her dresser. She’s used to not looking at herself in the mirror when she’s half-undressed and now, she keeps her eyes cast downwards away from the mirror as she begins opening the drawers, hoping something is left behind that isn’t just a tee-shirt or tank top. She might just go down the hall to her parents’ bedroom and borrow something from her mom.

 

The dresser drawers are pretty much empty and Sansa turns towards the closet. As she does, her eye catches the full-length mirror she has hanging on the closet door and when she does, she freezes and she can’t get herself to look away. She can’t remember the last time she had looked at her reflection – truly looked at it – that last more than a fleeting second. She looks at her face each morning as she does her hair and applies her makeup, but to look down past her shoulders without clothing covering it, she hasn’t done that since before Ramsay. There’s nothing about herself that she likes seeing.

 

She had never known what a sadist was before Ramsay; had never even known that people like that actually existed in the world. She had been so hopelessly naïve, that whenever Sansa thinks back on it, she wants to scream at herself and call herself an idiot. Why had she stayed with him when he had done all of those things to her? Why hadn’t she run after the first time he revealed his true self to her in bed?

 

The cut and burn scars are terrible, but they’re not the worst things upon her body.

 

Sansa tells herself to look away, but for some reason, her eyes aren’t able to tear away from what is looking back at her. No, the cut and burn scars aren’t the worst. The worst are the bite marks. Ramsay had bitten down on her skin so hard in some places, she forever will have indentations of his teeth in her skin.

 

Her fingertips hesitantly, lightly, touch the deepest of the teeth marks; an imprint on her hip that almost still hurts just from staring at it.

 

 _Sansa, I love you_.

 

Days later, she hears Jon’s words still, echoing in her mind and she knows she’ll be hearing them for a while more before she’s able to shake them completely out of there.

 

She doesn’t know why he had said that to her. Twice. She doesn’t know what he’s playing at or what he wants from her. She knows though, that even if she is able to forgive him for breaking her heart so completely years earlier, she still will never be able to ever be with him. How can she when she looks like this? All she would need to do is be naked in front of him for him to realize he can’t be with her; not when so much of her body is marked up by another man. How can Jon ever look at her with her scars and these bite marks and still think that she’s the one for him?

 

She will never be able to be with any other man ever again. Ramsay has made sure of that.

 

“Sansa, dear?” Catelyn knocks lightly on the door and slowly pushes it open. “Sansa,” Catelyn hurries into the room when she sees Sansa sitting on the floor, in just her bra and blue jeans, her back against the dresser and her knees hugged as tightly to her chest as she can. Her whole body is shaking with her sobs and now that she has started crying, she can’t get herself to stop.

 

It actually seems that when Catelyn sits down next to her and puts her arms around her, Sansa only begins to cry harder; great sobs that make her chest ache and Catelyn puts her lips to her hairline and rubs a hand on her bare upper arm and murmurs comforting words to her that Sansa can’t actually hear.

 

“Oh, my Sansa,” Catelyn squeezes her arms. “It’s alright, my love. It’s just spaghetti sauce,” she says and that makes Sansa let out a huff of actual laughter mixed in with her tears. Catelyn pulls her head back and she gently cups Sansa’s face between her hands, pulling it upwards so Sansa can look at her. “You are beautiful and strong and you’re the most incredible woman I have ever had the honor of knowing and you know what makes it all the better? The fact that you’re my daughter.”

 

Catelyn’s words just make her sob harder.

 

“Sansa, you’re beautiful and wonderful and don’t let him ever think you’re anything different.”

 

Sansa shakes her head as rapidly as she can with Catelyn still cupping it between her hands. “I… sometimes I wish that he had just killed me,” she whispers her greatest secret.

 

Catelyn’s hands tighten ever so slightly on either side of her head and Sansa wonders if she even realizes that she’s doing it. Catelyn shakes her own head. “Never say that again, Sansa. Never. I can’t even imagine how this world would be if you weren’t in it. If anything ever happened to you, my world would end, too.”

 

Sansa closes her eyes as a few more tears stream down her cheeks.

 

“And you’re such an incredible mom. Brandon is the most wonderful boy – even in his terrible twos – and whenever you think that you wish you weren’t here anymore, just look at that little boy and look at how he looks at you. He absolutely loves you and you are his entire world.”

 

Sansa opens her eyes again. “There’s a support group,” she sniffles. “On campus every Wednesday for domestic abuse survivors and I… I tried to go, but I couldn’t get through the doors, but I,” another sob. “But I want to go. I _need_ to go.” Catelyn wipes at the tears on Sansa’s cheeks and Sansa realizes that Catelyn is crying as well. “But I don’t… will you come with me?” She asks in a whisper.

 

“You do not have to ask me that, Sansa,” Catelyn tells her. “I would be honored to go with you.”

 

Her answer just makes Sansa begin to cry all over again and Catelyn pulls her back into her arms, holding her and rocking her gently until Sansa feels the tears – finally – begin to subside. Catelyn stays with her the entire time – not that Sansa thought she wouldn’t – and her arms never leave her.

 

When her tears finally slow down and then stop, Sansa feels absolutely exhausted.

 

Catelyn keeps holding her. “Do you think you’re ready for some dessert?”

 

Sansa gives a nod. “Always,” she answers quietly and Catelyn laughs softly at that.

 

Catelyn doesn’t pull her arms away though and Sansa doesn’t make a move to stand up. “Sansa,” Catelyn says her name softly; almost as if she’s unsure of what she’s going to say next, but pushing ahead with it nonetheless. “Your father and I have talked about it, but haven’t been sure how to talk with _you_ about it. I go see a therapist once a week.”

 

Sansa’s eyes widen. “What? I had no idea.”

 

Catelyn nods. “Your father is the only one who knows. I have your father, of course, but sometimes, I just need to speak to someone about, well, about everything and she helps me work through things that I went through in my own life that I had convinced myself I’m fine with it, but I’m really not. She’s wonderful. I think maybe… your father and I both think that it might help if you had someone to talk with as well. I know you’ve told us so much and you can always, _always_ talk to us about anything. But maybe there are some things you won’t be comfortable telling us?” She guesses.

 

Sansa hesitates a moment and then nods honestly. “I don’t have the money though-”

 

“Your father and I are going to do this for you and you are going to let us do this for you,” Catelyn says in that tone that lets her children know that they can argue with her if they want, but they won’t win.

 

Both lift their heads when they heard a throat clearing from the doorway and they see Ned standing there.

 

“Everything alright?” Ned asks, remaining in the doorway.

 

Sansa is aware that she is in her bra and though her dad had seen the pictures of her body that Catelyn had taken when she had come home nearly four years earlier, Sansa doesn’t necessarily want her dad to see her like this right now. Or ever.

 

“We’re fine,” Catelyn gives her husband a smile and then looks to Sansa. “We’re fine, aren’t we?” She asks.

 

Sansa gives a nod and even manages a small smile.

 

“Ned, dear, can you please get Sansa one of your sweaters to wear for the time being? I have a feeling she wants to be swimming in something right now,” Catelyn says and Sansa nods because her mom knows her so well. So much of her has changed, but there seems to still be parts of her old self that has remained; parts of herself which her family is still able to know.

 

“Of course,” Ned gives them both a warm smile and leaves the door to go further down the hall.

 

“We’re here!” They then hear Robb announce loudly from below.            

 

Sansa pulls back from her mother’s arms and begins focusing on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling heavy breathes, and Catelyn wipes at her cheeks again.

 

“What’s for dessert?” Sansa asks and Catelyn laughs slightly.

 

“I was in a baking mood today. Carrot cake and we have to get back down there before Rickon eats it all. You know how he is with carrot cake,” Catelyn says and it’s Sansa turn to laugh slightly.

 

She can’t believe that she’s actually able to laugh at anything right now.

 

“Here we are!” Ned announces, stepping into the room this time with a soft green sweater in his hands.

 

“Thank you, but dad, I’m not going to wear cashmere with Brandon eating spaghetti downstairs,” Sansa frowns slightly at the familiar sweater he is holding.

 

Ned ignores her and hands the sweater to Catelyn, who hands it to Sansa, and he politely turns away and Sansa sits herself up so she can slip it over her head.

 

“Did I ever tell you the time when Robb threw his actual shite at me?” Ned asks. “I was wearing that very sweater and the dry cleaner was able to get it out without any trouble.”

 

“You’re giving me a sweater to wear that actually had my brother’s crap on it?” Sansa frowns.

 

Catelyn and Ned just laugh though Sansa isn’t as in love with the sweater as she was just a second ago, but still, she keeps it on and Ned turns to help both Sansa and Catelyn back to their feet.

 

“Robb’s brought a coworker from the office with him,” Ned tells Catelyn as they head towards the stairs.

 

“Just throw him on the pile along with everyone else. What’s one more at this point?” Catelyn replies.

 

“Mama!” Brandon exclaims as he sees Sansa coming down the stairs.

 

He’s in the kitchen with Jon and Robb and another man – who Sansa assumes is Robb’s coworker. Robb is holding Brandon in his arms and Jon is wiping at Brandon’s face, doing his best to clean him up. All three men turn their heads at Brandon’s announcement and Robb grins when he sees Sansa enter the kitchen, following behind Catelyn.

 

“Hello,” Catelyn says to the man.

 

“Mom, this is Dickon Tarly. Dickon, this is my mom, Catelyn, and _this_ is my sister, Sansa,” Robb says with that same grin.

 

Something about the introduction makes the back of Sansa’s neck prick.

 

“Welcome, Dickon,” Catelyn smiles. “I hope you like carrot cake.”

 

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Stark,” Dickon says politely and then looks to Sansa. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“You, too,” Sansa says and after moment of hesitating, she shakes Dickon’s extended hand.

 

He is taller than her with brown hair cut close to his head. He is broad across and fills his suit out nicely and the smile he gives her is warm.

 

“Mama,” Brandon is trying to squirm in Robb’s arms.

 

Sansa looks away from Dickon, still looking at her and holding her hand – she hadn’t even been aware of that – and she pulls away so she can go to Brandon, lifting him from Robb’s arms and holding him in hers.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sansa says to Jon as he turns to the sink to wash the cloth off.

 

Jon shrugs his shoulders slightly and looks back to her. “He was a bit of a mess,” he replies. He doesn’t say anything past that and his eyes are dark and intent, steady on her. She knows it’s been obvious that she was just upstairs, crying her eyes out, and she knows Jon isn’t an idiot. She knows that he can see.

 

His brow furrows ever so slightly. “Are you alright?” He asks her softly then and it’s the same voice that always transports her to those nights spent in his bed, when he would talk to her lowly like that, asking her if she’s alright; she likes what he’s doing to her.

 

It sends a shiver down her spine that shoots right between her thighs and she manages a nod before turning her head away from him.

 

“Mama, I’m sorry,” Brandon says.

 

Sansa looks at him. “For what, sweetling?” She asks.

 

“For the mess,” he says and Sansa smiles, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“No harm done. That’s why we have washing machines. But I don’t like having food thrown at me,” she says, still wanting to make sure that she is at least a little bit stern with him when he misbehaves.

 

“I’m sorry,” Brandon says again, with his lower lip sticking out, and Sansa looks at him for a moment.

 

He has her blue eyes and creamy skin – she knows sunburns in the summer will be a problem once he’s older – and his hair is a mop of curls that is just like Robb’s and Rickon’s. What she said upstairs to her mom is true. Somedays, when she thinks of things in the past, when she thinks of scars and bite marks on her skin, she will wish that she wasn’t alive at all. But then she’ll look at Brandon – like she is looking at him now – and she knows that this world is better because he’s in it and she is responsible for him being here. She has thought it before and she thinks it again.

 

Brandon has saved her life and has given her a reason for wanting to be alive.

 

He’s the best thing she has ever done.

 

“I love you, Brandon,” she says to him then and holds him tight and close and Brandon hugs her.

 

“So, Sans,” Robb speaks up as he pulls a beer can from the refrigerator, handing one back to Dickon and taking one for himself.

 

Sansa notices that he doesn’t even think to offer Jon one and instead, he hands Jon a can of Coke.

 

“Dickon was just telling me that he’s in need of a tailor since his has just retired. I was telling him that you’re always the one to make my suits as if they were made just for me,” Robb says.

 

“Oh,” Sansa says and her eyes go to Dickon, momentarily confused. “Of course. If you’re ever in need of some alterations…”

 

“I’d be willing to pay top dollar,” Dickon says and Sansa can tell from the suit he is wearing now that this man has money.

 

There is a way that men who are comfortable financially carry themselves and Dickon certainly has that same air to him. But she notes that he’s not pushing it upon people. He’s not making sure everyone in the room knows. Rather, he seems almost bashful about it.

 

“I wouldn’t charge you that much,” Sansa says with a shake of her head and a small smile. “I love doing any kind of work on clothes so if you do need me to see to some of your suits…”

 

“She’s brilliant at it,” Robb boasts. “I’d look like a complete idiot without her.”

 

“Well, I can only do so much about that,” Sansa teases back and she sees Jon smirk at that and Dickon smile at her.

 

She admits that Dickon _is_ a handsome man, but… she doesn’t know. He just doesn’t seem like her type. She has no idea what her type is, but she knows that it wouldn’t be someone like Dickon.

 

And then she wonders _why_ it wouldn’t be someone like Dickon? He’s handsome and seems successful and seems nice enough…

 

Ramsay had seemed nice the first time she met him, too.

 

“I’m sure you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Dickon then comments. “Robb’s been talking to me about you all day.”

 

“He has?” Sansa looks at Robb, surprised.

 

“What has he been saying?” Jon speaks up and Sansa looks to him to see that he’s looking at Dickon – glaring is more like it – and he’s frowning fiercely.

 

Dickon shrugs. “Just what an amazing person she is. It’s just been a few minutes, but I can already see that for myself.”

 

Jon slams his can of Coke on the counter so harshly then, Sansa feels herself jump slightly. She’s not the best around loud noises, she admits. Not anymore.

 

Jon notices. “Sorry," he then murmurs softly to Sansa and then looks to Robb. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asks Robb through practically clenched teeth.

 

Robb just keeps grinning though. “Of course.”

 

They leave the kitchen then and Sansa notices the shove in the back that Jon gives Robb and Robb just laughs in response.

 

For a moment, it’s just Dickon, Sansa and Brandon still in the kitchen.

 

“And this is Brandon?” Dickon asks, smiling at the boy.

 

“Yes, this is Brandon,” Sansa smiles, looking to her son and Brandon, shy all of a sudden, turns his head and presses it to the side of Sansa’s throat. “He’s getting tired,” she then explains.

 

“He’s not the only one,” Dickon says and Sansa laughs a little at that.

 

She feels almost guilty for laughing, but she has no idea why she would.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry there wasn't that much Jon/Sansa in this chapter, but things will start picking up in the next chapter. I promise! Thank you so much to the response you are giving this story. I honestly can't believe that so many are enjoying it, but I am so grateful that you are!


	10. Ten

…

 

**Ten.**

 

“Are you warm enough?” Sansa asks Brandon for the fifth time in as many minutes.

 

“Yep!” Brandon exclaims, his head bobbing up and down, and he’s bouncing on his feet with excitement.

 

For the North, it’s actually somewhat warm this late morning; at least warmer than the days had been for the past few weeks. The sun is bright and warm enough to melt some of the snow on the ground. It’s still cold, of course, but as far as it goes for a high school cross country meet, the day is absolute perfection.

 

Rickon is only a sophomore at Wintertown Academy, but he is already known as one of the fastest runners in any of the grades. All of the coaches are constantly after him to play for their sports’ teams, but Rickon prefers strictly being on the cross country and the track teams. Track is for the spring and in the fall and winter, no matter the weather, he has a cross country meet nearly every weekend. This weekend’s is at Wintertown Academy and any home meet he has, Sansa does her best to always come. The entire family does, and depending on where his away meets are, his siblings do their best to attend those, too.

 

Sansa makes a sign for Rickon for each meet – _RUN, RICKON, RUN_ – and Brandon happily colors in the letters and holds the poster in his hands, against his chest, waiting for sight of his uncle to come past and no matter how long Rickon has been running or how tired he might be, when he passes Brandon and Sansa, Brandon waving and calling to him, Rickon is always able to smile and wave back.

 

She’s not sure where the rest of her family is, but when she and Brandon arrive, they trudge across the school grounds to take their place along the familiar path that the cross country meets always use, standing right at the bend that leads out of a thicket of woods and where Rickon can never miss them. She has brought Lady with them today and even with her leash on, the handle looped around Sansa’s wrist, the Siberian Husky happily rolls herself in the snow and Sansa laughs.

 

Brandon turns and hands her the poster to hold and then he stoops down, beginning to scoop snow up with his mittens and tossing it onto Lady, which only drives the dog’s happiness to pure delirium, and Brandon giggles, scooping more snow, and Sansa’s laugh is light and it echoes through the crisp, clear air.

 

“Jon!” Brandon exclaims and Sansa immediately turns, seeing Jon heading their way.

 

Her smile doesn’t immediately vanish, but it has completely disappeared by the time he draws nearer. Brandon runs as best as he can in the snow and Sansa watches with a lump in her throat as Jon stoops down and scoops Brandon right up into his arms, not missing a step as he continues on his way to her.

 

She wants to hate him for how good he is with Brandon; how good he’s always been with him. And there are many reasons that Sansa tells herself she can hate Jon Snow for but, having a relationship with her son isn’t one of those reasons. Brandon absolutely adores him and what would Sansa do? Tell Jon to stay away from him and break Brandon’s heart? He wouldn’t understand Sansa’s reasons for not wanting Jon to keep himself away from them both and her and Jon’s awful past with one another isn’t Brandon’s fault.

 

And it had been nothing, but awful. 

 

She thinks one of these days, if she tells herself that enough times, she'll believe it.

 

_Sansa’s face explodes into an inferno when she and Jon both see the small spot of a bloodstain on his bed sheet. “Oh my God… Jon, I’m so sorry,” she says in a rush as she frantically begins to pull the sheet from the mattress._

_“Hey, hey,” Jon reaches out and stops her, hands gentle on her arms. “Sansa, there’s no reason to apologize.”_

_Sansa finds that she’s having a hard time meeting his eyes. He had just been_ inside _of her. He had whispered things in her ear – a mixture of sweet and downright vulgar – and Sansa had moaned and cried out his name and he had just given her an actual orgasm. Her virginity is gone now because of this man standing in front of her. Man or boy? She’s not too sure. He’s twenty. What does that make him?_

_Now that she’s had sex, is she not a girl anymore, but a woman? She always thought losing her virginity would feel different. Jeyne Pool had given her all of the details when she had lost hers the year before after their Homecoming dance. Apparently, it had hurt and hadn’t lasted very long at all. Neither had made the act sound all that appealing to Sansa. But then, Jon happened and everything she has experienced with Jon – tonight and leading up to this night – has been like a dream._

_“Sansa,” he says her name so softly, so gently, and she finally has her eyes meet his. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” he tells her as his arms slowly wind around her waist, drawing her close to him. “I don’t think I’ll ever wash the sheets again, to be honest.”_

_Sansa wrinkles her nose at that. “There’s a fine line between being really sweet and really disgusting, Jon,” she informs him and then breaks into a small smile when Jon actually laughs at that._

“Hi,” Jon says to her once he closes the distance between them, his eyes settled on her.

 

He carefully sets Brandon onto his feet again and Lady, now back to her feet, shakes herself off and then bounds towards Brandon, knocking him over with her exuberance, but the boy just laughs with delight.

 

“Hi,” Sansa manages to say, looking at him for a moment before turning her head and looking up the path, as if expecting to see Rickon that very second. But no runners yet.

 

She’s aware of Jon standing next to her – not close enough to where any part of him touches any part of her, but close enough that she’s very aware of his presence; aware of the warmth from his body and aware of his familiar scents that haven’t changed in all of this time. She wonders what she smells like to him. And then she has to wonder why on earth she would care about something like that.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says her name.

 

She immediately turns her head to look at him, surprising him and surprising herself as well. He had obviously been expecting her to just ignore him and Sansa isn’t too sure why she’s _not_ ignoring him.

 

He clears his throat and she tells herself to not look at the way his Adam’s apple bobs down and up. He’s not wearing a scarf and his winter coat isn’t zipped all of the way up, exposing the collar of the black sweater he’s wearing beneath. His hair is down that day, but he has a knit cap shoved down on his head. She had seen the gloves on his hands, but his hands are now in his pockets.

 

It’s certainly not the first time Sansa has tried hating him for being as handsome as he is. He told her that he hadn’t dated anyone since her, but what they were doing together couldn’t necessarily be defined as dating. They had gone out to dinners and movies, yes, but always very aware that they were hiding from her family and going to restaurants and theaters they would never been seen by people they know.

 

If Jon had gone out with a girl after they ended, Sansa imagines that it would have been quite different. Jon might have even brought that girl around to meet the Stark family. She hated the image of Jon walking into the house, the hand of some girl tucked into his and the smile on his face as he introduces to everyone as his girlfriend.

 

“I, um, if it would be alright with you, I was thinking of coming sometime tomorrow to get started on the sun room,” Jon says and Sansa doesn’t understand why she feels disappointed with his words to her.

 

It takes her a moment to nod and she swallows. “That’s fine,” she says in a quiet voice, her eyes falling away from him once again.

  
What had she expected him to say? He has told her he loves her – twice – but she still doesn’t know if she believes him or not. He had said those words to her before – many times before – but they were just words he had whispered to her in darkened rooms or across a small table in a restaurant where he was sure no one would see him. She was a dirty secret that he was ashamed of.

 

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. Wasn’t that what she was?

 

She had said again and again that she wanted to tell her family, but Jon had always convinced her otherwise; always wanting to hold it off and promising her that they would tell everyone. Soon. Always soon. But soon never came and to this day, she still wonders what had been going through his mind.

 

Jon has been Robb’s best friend since they met one another in first grade. The teacher had sat them alphabetically and Stark and Snow were one right after the other. They declared themselves to be best friends that very first day and to this day, they are as close as brothers. Jon is a part of the Stark family and Sansa thinks he actually has a closer relationship with her siblings than she sometimes does.

 

Did he really think they would turn their backs on him just because he was seeing her?

 

Arya would have raised a fit, that’s for sure. Sansa and Arya are much closer now – something that Sansa is grateful for everyday – but growing up, they certainly had been opposite sides of the spectrum and had preferred to have nothing to do with one another. Arya and Jon thought… Arya had absolutely adored Jon. Was he afraid of what Arya would do or say to him if she found out that he was seeing Sansa?

 

Sansa still tells herself that her family would understand. There would have been some less than desirable reactions – she’s not naïve enough to think that there wouldn’t have been – but they would have all come to accept hers and Jon’s relationship. Eventually. Her family loves her and they love Jon. They would have gotten used to the two being together.

 

“Were you going to break up with me?” Sansa blurts out and it takes her a second to realize that she has actually asked that question out loud and has just not thought it silently in her head.

 

“What?” Jon looks at her with slightly widened eyes; his surprise evident.

 

“Is that why you never wanted to tell my family about us? You thought we weren’t going to last and you didn’t want to have to deal with telling them?” She forces herself to press on.

 

“Mama, sign,” Brandon says, having stood up from playing in the snow with Lady and she hands Brandon the sign, all the while never taking her eyes from Jon, and Brandon comes to stand in front of her again.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says and his mouth stays open as if he wants to say more, but no other words leave.

 

And the longer he just keeps looking at her and not saying anything, a coil in her stomach begins to grow tighter and hotter. “You still can’t tell me?” Sansa says in a hard voice she hardly recognizes as her own. “After all of this time and feeding me that bullshit the other day that you love me-”

 

She doesn’t like to curse in front of Brandon, but he’s distracted, watching the path for the first runners, and he’s not paying attention to what his mama and Jon are saying.

 

“That wasn’t a lie,” Jon cuts in.

 

Sansa can’t help, but snort at that.

 

“It wasn’t. I loved you then and I still love you. I know you have no reason to believe me and I’m not going to force you to believe me. I just wanted you to know that that’s how I felt. _Feel_. I never stopped feeling that way about you.”

 

Sansa chooses to ignore how genuine his words seem to be in that moment.

 

“You still never answered me,” Sansa says, her voice cold and hard and she ignores the way it feels as if everything inside of her is sinking to her feet. “Why did you want to keep us a secret? And it better not be because you were afraid of telling Robb and Arya,” she adds.

 

“Let me ask you something first,” Jon says and turns to face her completely. “With me, what was I? How long did you see yourself with me? A few months? A year or two? What would have happened when you dumped me? You really think I would be able to stay around your family after that?”

 

Sansa stares at him and everything inside of her sinks.

 

For as many times as she had told him that she loved him, it hadn’t mattered. Her words hadn’t mattered to him. They were together and while Sansa wanted to be with him always, he was already seeing the end. He just assumed that he knew what she was thinking or wanting and he took it upon himself to cut the strings first before she could; before she could so something she had never even thought of doing. He thought that she thought he was just something temporary.

 

Had he ever even really known her at all?

 

“I wanted to marry you,” Sansa whispers, the hardness completely deflating from her body and she just feels tired. Tired and drained… and sad.

 

Jon stares as if her, stunned, still, silent; looking as if she had just slapped him and she supposes she has.

 

“We’re here!” Ned’s booming voice interrupted them and Sansa turned to see her parents making their way towards them. “He hasn’t passed yet, has he? Your mother had to finish making her gallon of hot chocolate before we could leave.”

 

“Don’t start with me, Ned,” Cat says to her husband, frowning, but all could see her eyes twinkling. “We both know that you’ll be drinking more of this than me.”

 

“Grandpa!” Brandon exclaims gleefully and comes running towards him, the sign in one hand, flapping as he hurries and Ned grins, hefting Brandon up in his arms.

 

“There’s my boy,” Ned says and Brandon beams as Ned gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s see this week’s sign. That is a work of art. Your Uncle Rickon is only going to want to run even faster when he sees this one.”

 

“Sansa,” Cat says her name gently, looking at her closely. She looks to Jon and then back to Sansa. “Are you alright?”

 

Sansa can feel the moisture in her eyes, but thankfully, no tears have escaped though she can only assume that it’s obvious she’s moments away from crying and she wonders how much she is expected to cry before there’s nothing in her life anymore that can affect her emotionally like this. It doesn’t seem right that a person cry so much and so often and some days, it feels like, to Sansa, that crying is all that she’s capable of doing.

 

She manages to give her mom a tight-lipped smile. “Do you mind watching Brandon? I have to go to the bathroom,” she says.

 

“Of course,” Cat answers and it’s obvious she doesn’t believe a word coming out of Sansa’s mouth right now, but Sansa doesn’t stop herself to care about that right now. She’ll care later, but not right now.

 

“Be good for your grandparents, Brandon,” Sansa smiles up at her son and rubs a mitten-clad hand over Brandon’s cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she promises and Brandon smiles and nods at her. “Do you mind?” She then asks her dad, holding up Lady’s leash.

 

Ned just smiles and holds out his arm that he’s not holding Brandon with and Sansa manages another small smile before slipping the handle of the leash onto Ned’s wrist.

 

She can feel Jon still staring at her, still probably processing her confession to him, but she doesn’t even look in his direction. She acts as if he’s not even there and she turns, heading towards the school.

 

She doesn’t expect Jon to follow after her. Jon doesn’t do that. When she walks away, he lets her.

 

She reaches the school and opens the side door that is left unlocked when there is a sporting event so people can come inside to use the bathroom. She doesn’t go to the bathroom though. Instead, with a heavy sigh, she leans back against the nearest wall and closes her eyes, telling herself to not cry. Jon Snow is not worth her tears. He’s not worth anything. He had let her walk away because he assumed it was what she was going to do all along.

 

She thinks that that is what hurts the most. She had wanted to marry him and he had just been waiting for her to leave him.

 

Maybe something is broken inside of her; something that was broken long before she ever met Ramsay. Maybe, in her mind, she thinks she’s loving a person with her whole heart, but in actuality, the person is never able to tell. Oh gosh, does Brandon know? Does Brandon know that she loves him more than anything or does he think that his mom is some ice princess, completely indifferent towards him? Is she completely inept at showing her true feelings for a person?

 

Arya had used to always call her cold, but Sansa had just thought that it was a sister saying something mean to a sister.

 

She had loved Jon completely. She had told him she loved him countless times.

 

And he still hadn’t known.

 

Is that why Ramsay “chose” her? He was completely incapable of human love and when he saw her, he thought she was, too?

 

She hears the door open and before she even opens her eyes, she knows who it is. And sure enough, it is Jon. He stands there, in front of her, and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. And suddenly, his silence is angering her far more than she would ever think possible.

 

Sansa pushes herself off the wall and lifting her hand, she slaps him right across the face. Of course, with her mittens still on her hands, the slap doesn’t hurt him nearly as much as it would have without them, but his face turns nonetheless from the impact.

 

“Say something!” She shouts then, her voice echoing down the empty hallway. “You _never_ say anything, Jon!”

 

“I love you,” he says, practically growling the words, staring at her with his eyes practically black.

 

And then he is grabbing her hands, holding them in one of his before his other hand goes to the back of her head and he tugs her into a kiss, his mouth covering hers.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started on this chapter as soon as I finished the last one and it practically flew out of me. I love it. Again, another one that is shorter than usual, but once again, a bit is crammed into it. I hope you like it, too! Thank you!!


	11. Eleven

…

 

**Eleven.**

Jon is kissing her. Jon’s mouth is covering hers. She can feel Jon’s tongue gently tracing her bottom lip.

 

Jon is kissing her.

 

She tells herself to push him away. She tells her that she doesn’t want to be kissing him and how dare he just kiss her right now. He has absolutely no right to kiss her and she’s going to tell him that as soon as she pushes him away from her.

 

But… Jon is kissing her and she finds out that he tastes as he always used to. She never figured out how, but he always tasted like he had just drank a cup of warm spiced apple cider and finding out for herself that he still tastes exactly like she remembered after all of this time, her stomach curls and tightens and she begins to slowly press her mouth back against his, matching the pressure and rhythm of his lips.

 

She aches at how much she has missed kissing him, feeling his beard gently scratching her chin, and in the back of her mind, she wonders how wrong it is to have missed feeling like this with him and kissing him. But it doesn’t feel wrong. Not in the least. Kissing Jon and feeling his warm body right against hers, it feels right. It feels like coming back home after being gone all day and wrapping up in a warm blanket and a mug of hot chocolate.

 

She tries to touch him then. She tries to lift her hands to his chest or his cheeks and cup them the way she used to, but then she realizes that he’s still grasping her wrists and the moment she notices seems to be the very moment that Jon realizes it, too.

 

“Shit,” he gasps, his lips tearing away from hers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sansa.”

 

He moves so quickly, Sansa hardly has time to really register what he is doing.

 

Jon tugs his gloves off rapidly and she can do nothing, but stand there and watch him as his fingers gently push up her coat sleeves and push down her mittens and then take hold of her wrists once more, handling her with such care, as if she is made from glass, inspecting every inch of her skin.

 

“I didn’t mean to grab you,” he says quietly and she can hear that he is still trying to catch his breath.

 

It is then that Sansa notices that she is breathless, too, and her heart is beating rapidly within her chest.

 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asks and lifts his eyes to look to her face.

 

She shakes her head and she doesn’t seem to be able to say anything; not at this moment. Her lips were still quaking from his kisses and she was shocked to realize that she was yearning for him to kiss her again. She should be wanting to slap him again; not wanting to feel his lips on hers again.

 

“Fuck, Sansa,” Jon breathes. “I didn’t want to do it like that. When I finally kissed you… I didn’t scare you, did I? I didn’t want to just grab you like that. Not after-” he cuts himself abruptly, but she knows exactly what he was going to say.

 

Not after Ramsay.

 

“You didn’t scare me,” Sansa is finally able to say something, her eyes never leaving his face.

 

Jon looks at her, his eyes dark as they stare into hers. She sees the flick they make down to her lips before back to her eyes and she’s very aware that his bare fingers are still holding her bare wrists, drawing the faintest circles on her skin. She wonders if Jon even realizes that he’s doing that. She wonders if she should hate herself for not wanting him to stop.

 

“I’ve been back for four years, Jon,” she says in a quiet voice. “If you love me, where have you been?”

 

Jon doesn’t answer right away. He keeps staring into her eyes. Moments of silence tick by and he still doesn’t say anything and Sansa sighs softly, taking a step back, ready to go back outside. All she wants is some answers. She thinks, after all of this time that it’s not too much to ask. She thinks she deserves some answers as to why Jon broke her heart all those years ago and why he continues to want to break it.

 

She _needs_ answers.

 

As she begins to take a step back, Jon’s fingers tighten around her wrists ever so slightly; not nearly enough to cause her any amount of pain, but enough to signal to her to stop. She does so and Jon visibly swallows before he takes a step forward, returning the same small amount of space to between them.

 

“I was a mess when we broke up,” Jon begins. “A fucking disaster. I started drinking and when I realized that drinking could make me a bit numb to everything, I started drinking more and more until I reached the point where I only stopped when I passed out. It was bad.”

 

Sansa feels as if she isn’t breathing as she looks at him, listening to every word. The air is trapped in her lungs and it’s beginning to burn, but she still doesn’t want to breathe; in fear that if she makes the slightest noise – even that of inhaling and exhaling – he’ll stop talking and she doesn’t want him to do that for anything. For once, Jon is actually _talking_ and she needs him to keep going.

 

“And then I found out you were coming home and it was your dad and Robb… I found out what had happened with you and Ramsay and…” he swallows and stops himself, taking a pause from saying anything else for a moment. “I knew I couldn’t keep drinking. I knew I had fucked everything up once already and I couldn’t do that again. I had to be the kind of man who actually was worthy of you.”

 

Even if Sansa wants to breathe, she’s pretty sure that she’s unable to.

 

“I got sober and your parents helped me get my business off the ground.” He pauses, swallows again, and looks down to her wrists still in his hands. “I love you. I love Brandon. I wanted to be a good enough man who would be able to give you both something.”

 

“I don’t blame you for Ramsay,” the words tumble from her mouth before she can even realize it.

 

Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at her.

 

“I don’t,” she shakes her head slightly. “What happened with Ramsay, it happened long after you and me and I don’t want you to think that I blame you for anything that happened with him. I blame you for a lot of things, but not that.”

 

Jon just keeps staring at her and doesn’t say anything as he studies her face. Sansa doesn’t say anything either. She feels completely exhausted, if she’s being honest. So much has just been said – it’s their first real conversation in years – but there’s still so much to talk about and Sansa doesn’t know if she’s up for it. At least, not here and not now.

 

“The next time we kiss, I want you to kiss me first,” Jon tells her. “And it will be when you’re ready and it will be when you want it.”

 

Sansa’s eyes grow damp at that.

 

She feels like it’s been so long since someone – a man – has said something remotely like that to her.

 

“I’m not ready,” she shakes her head slightly.

 

The kiss with Jon had rocked her to her absolute core and she still swears that her heart is still pounding in response to it; her lips still trembling. But she’s not ready. Not in the least. Her heart is still shattered and though she said years have passed – and that’s obviously true – she knows that some of those shattered pieces are because of Jon.

 

“I’ll be here when you are,” Jon says – his voice quiet, but it doesn’t hide the firmness of his tone. “I swear to you, Sansa. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Sansa nods slowly, staring at him; not able to look away from his eyes burning into hers.

 

She feels herself right on the edge, her balance dangerously close to being lost and she will fall with nothing down below to break her fall. She will fall and fall and end up at the bottom, crushed and broken. She’s not ready for that. Not again. Maybe this time will be different, maybe this time, she will fall, but it will be slow – more like a float – and maybe, this time, Jon will be down below to catch her.

 

But at the moment, everything is still too uncertain and she’s just not ready to crash again.

 

In the back of her mind, she can’t help, but wonder how long Jon will hold himself to that promise; of him not going anywhere. What if she’s never ready? She can’t imagine someone waiting forever. Not for her.

 

…

 

“Well, hello again.”

 

Sansa turns her head and instantly smiles upon seeing Margaery, the florist in her neighborhood’s market.

 

“Hello,” Sansa says. “I was hoping I would run into you.”

 

“Hi!” Brandon chirps from the seat of the shopping trolley, not wanting to be left out.

 

“Hello, there, handsome,” Margaery smiles warmly at the boy and then looks back to Sansa. “And _I_ was hoping to run into _you_ again,” she says. “I don’t want to say that I’ve been borderline stalking you, but I will admit that I have taken a far closer look at all of the shoppers than I usually do, not wanting to miss you if you did come back.”

 

Sansa laughs a little at that, her cheeks warm. “I’ve been shopping at the market across town,” she then admits. “I wanted to have a little time pass before I came back. I know most people wouldn’t remember a girl fainting at the butcher’s counter, but…” she trails off then and gives a small shrug.

 

Margaery just smiles though and she’s pretty and kind and Sansa can’t remember the last time she had had a friend who isn’t her mom or Arya. “If it makes you feel any better, there was a teenager who threw up in the cereal aisle just the other day,” she says, her smile broadening to a grin, and Sansa lets out a soft laugh at that, but her stomach tightens with nerves and it doesn’t let up.

 

“This is going to sound a bit strange since we don’t know one another – at all – but I wanted to thank you, for helping me and seeing to Brandon, and I was wondering if you would let me cook you dinner,” Sansa says and she knows that she probably says it too quickly, but she knows if she doesn’t say those words right that second, she won’t be able to say them at all. “I’m not a terrible cook-”

 

“I would love to come for dinner,” Margaery cuts her off. “That sounds amazing actually. I live with my brother and you would think that a gay man would be able to cook, but he’s just awful. And I definitely can’t cook either, so I suppose I shouldn’t be so hard on him. We eat a lot of pizza and Mexican takeaway and yes, I would love to come for dinner,” she says again.

 

Sansa smiles. “This means so much to me. Thank you.”

 

“This means the world to _me_. You don’t have to do this,” Margaery tells her.

 

“You took care of my son while I was… anyone who does that is a person I want to know,” Sansa says and Margaery just keeps smiling. “Here is my address,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of paper that she had already written it on before leaving the house to come here and before she would be able to talk herself out of it. “You’re not vegetarian, are you? I was going to make a beef dish, but I can easily change it-”

 

“I will eat anything,” Margaery assures her, taking the paper and slipping it into the front pocket of the apron she is wearing. “Thank you so much for this. My shift ends at six.”

 

“It will be ready,” Sansa says, promising herself just as much as Margaery.

 

There is a nervous fluttering in her stomach as she finishes the rest of hers and Brandon’s food shopping for the week and she checks and double checks that she has everything she needs to make dinner that night. She knows she and Margaery don’t know each other at all and who’s to say that they’ll be friends or even speak to one another again after this dinner tonight? But if they _do_ become friends, Sansa wonders if she even remembers how to be a friend.

 

At home, the _Snow Construction_ work van is parked on the curb outside the house and when Sansa pulls into the garage, closing the door behind her, she hears the pounding of hammers when she turns the car off.

 

It takes her a couple of trips, unloading the trunk, but soon, bags are spilling all over the kitchen table and she sheds Brandon of his outer layers and hers as well. Lady is dancing at the back patio door and holding her back with one foot, Sansa slides the door open just enough to stick her head out. Between Jon, Tormund and Edd all working, the frame for her future sun room is going up quickly.

 

The instant Jon sees her, he stops his hammering, and Sansa does her best to not blush at him.

 

She has no idea where they stand. They have kissed and Jon says that he’s not going anywhere, but she doesn’t know if she can believe in any of it. She doesn’t even know if she wants to be with Jon like that. If they can be friends… that might work. But more than that? She just doesn’t know. The heartbreak from Jon had been devastating and life-changing and she had barely survived it the first time.

 

And now, things are different. She’s a mom. She has Brandon. She just can’t leap into a relationship – a relationship that might end badly again – and think that it won’t affect not only here, but Brandon, too.

 

Speaking of Brandon, the boy slams into the back of her thighs and Sansa turns her head, smiling down at him, and Brandon tilts his head up, giggling. Gods, she hopes this boy knows just how much she loves him. She wants to ask Jon why he had never believed that she had loved him. Is it not obvious to everyone that she absolutely adores her son?

 

“Everything alright?” Jon breaks through her thoughts.

 

“I was just wondering if it would be alright to let Lady out. I’m pretty sure she’s crossing her legs,” Sansa says and Jon smiles at that.

 

“Of course,” he gives a nod.

 

“Don’t drop your hammer again, Tormund,” Edd warns the larger man.

 

“I dropped it one time!” Tormund exclaims back.

 

“She’ll be fine,” Jon promises to Sansa and Sansa gives a small nod before stepping back, turning and hefting Brandon up in her arms and coaxing Lady outside – not that she needs much coaxing, the dog shooting out like a bullet.

 

She wants to turn back and ask the men if they need anything, but at the last moment, she slides the door shut again and keeps her back turned. She sets Brandon down on his feet once again and gives him a smile. He happily beams up at her.

 

“Would you like to help me in the kitchen today?” She asks.

 

“Yes!” Brandon eagerly exclaims and she laughs slightly.

 

“First things first. We have to unpack everything.” Peeking in the bags, she finds one filled with dry goods – cereal and cracker boxes. “Here, sweetling. You take this bag and unpack it for me.”

 

She sets the bag down on the floor in front of Brandon and the toddler immediately starts pulling things from it. He even begins hurrying to the pantry to put everything away – in the wrong spots, but that doesn’t matter. He’s happy and occupied and now Sansa can begin preparations for dinner that evening.

 

She isn’t sure how much time has passed, but the beef stew is in the crockpot, Brandon has brought his favorite train to play with on the floor so he can be in the kitchen with her, and Sansa is beginning to knead the dough that she will bake so she and Margaery can have fresh bread that evening with dinner. She can hear the men laughing and talking – their voices muffled – and she finds herself kneading to the rhythm of their hammers banging.

 

She jumps, startled, when there is a sudden knock on the glass door and she spins to see who it is.

 

“Jon!” Brandon exclaims as if he hasn’t seen her in forever and putting his hands on the floor, he pushes himself to his feet and scurries to the door.

 

He stands on his toes, trying to pull the door open, and Sansa follows him, pulling the door open for him.

 

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

 

“Yeah. I just wanted to let you know that we’re finishing up for the day and depending on how things go at the library tomorrow, we’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon,” Jon tells her.

 

“Alright,” Sansa nods and does her best to give him a small smile.

 

_I love you. I love Brandon. I wanted to be a good enough man who would be able to give you both something._

It’s been one day and her lips still tremble and his words still echo in her mind and she still doesn’t know what to think or do about the whole thing. She wants to believe him. She admits that to herself. She wants to believe him more than anything. She just doesn’t know if she can’t. If this was years ago, Sansa knows she would have already fallen into his arms. But it’s not a few years ago. This is today and she’s different in so many ways. She doesn’t think that Jon even realizes just how different she is.

 

“Thank you for everything,” she adds when he begins to turn away.

 

Jon stops and looks back to her. The smile is a ghost of one, passing over his lips, but she knows she doesn’t imagine it. And the smile that passes over her lips is just as small and brief, but when Jon sees it, his own smile grows. She wonders if smiling at him is leading him on; leading him on since she doesn’t know what she wants and if when she figures that out, she doesn’t know if what she wants will be Jon.

 

But there’s no harm in a small smile at him. She _hopes_ there’s no harm in it. If she was completely petty, she could want to hurt him like he had hurt her, but honestly, she just doesn’t have the energy for that. And if she did – despite everything between them – hurting Jon actually isn’t what she wants at all.

 

…

 

At six-o-five, on the dot, the doorbell rings, Lady barks at the sound, running towards the door, and Brandon hurries to go answer the door himself. Sansa gives her reflection one last look in her dresser mirror before she hurries after them both.

 

She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. It’s just a woman coming over and it’s just dinner. This can either lead to friendship or it can just lead to a one-time event. No big deal either way.

 

It’s a lie, of course, and Sansa knows that. If she and Margaery become friends, that’s a very big deal. She lost contact with all friends during the Ramsay time and she never considered contacting any of them again. She dropped them and she’s too different now and she can’t imagine that any of her old friends would be too eager to hear from her again. It’s hard for her to imagine people actually still remembering her when they haven’t seen or heard from her in four years.

 

Sansa swoops Brandon up into her arms, resting him on her hip, and she holds Lady back as best as she can with one foot as she unlocks the three locks she has on the front door.

 

She never asked Margaery if she’s alright with dogs. She might have to put Lady in the backyard for the next couple hours. It’s frigid outside, but Lady loves this kind of weather. Sansa would rather not have her out there for too long, but if she has to…

 

“Hi!” Margaery greets as soon as Sansa opens the door.

 

“Hi,” Sansa smiles and for some reason, she feels instantly relaxed upon seeing her.

 

“Hi!” Brandon echoes and both Margaery and Sansa share a laugh.

 

“You are just too cute, I can hardly stand it,” Margaery tells him and Brandon beams at that proudly.

 

“Come in, come in,” Sansa steps back so she can enter the house. “I have a dog,” she then says, feeling stupid as she does, because she obviously had just heard Lady bark and she can see Lady right now, sniffing at her ankles curiously.

 

“Love them,” Margaery assures her as Sansa closes the door behind her. “Now, I have no idea if you drink so if not, I will take this home, but I wanted to bring something.” She holds up a bottle of red wine.

 

“Oh, thank you,” Sansa says gratefully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything, but I don’t think one little glass will hurt.”

 

Margaery smiles, clearly pleased with that answer. “And these as well.”

 

Sansa can’t help, but look at the vase in Margaery’s other arm, an explosion of colors. “Margaery…” she begins to say, but what, she’s not entirely sure.

 

“It took me a while and don’t tell my manager that I did this instead of working, but I wanted to pick the perfect ones for you,” Margaery tells her. “Now, flowers all mean something. They have their own language. Red Carnations mean admiration. The Lavender Heather is admiration, the gerbera daisies mean purity, and the Echinacea flowers? Those mean strength.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. That is all I can say to that massive response to the last chapter. I am so behind on responding to comments, but just please. Know that I read every single one of them and every single comment I get makes me happier than you can imagine. I always think that with each chapter, I have screwed the story up somehow, but so many of you are always there, to reassure me. I can't say thank you enough for that and all of the lovely feedback you leave. Seriously. I'm beginning to live for the responses to this story.


	12. Twelve

…

 

**Twelve.**

“The campus is lovely this time of night,” Catelyn comments almost dreamily.

 

Sansa would have laughed if she isn’t so close to feeling like bursting into tears. She sits on the bench outside the student union just as she had the week before when Tormund found her and tonight, even with her mom, Sansa’s unable to walk inside. She sits down on the bench and Cat sits right next to her.

 

She is quiet and doesn’t say a word and Cat follows her lead until she doesn’t and talks idly of Winterfell University’s campus and Rickon’s next cross-country meet.

 

“He’s nervous, but he has no reason to be. True, people from Karhold can be a bit… Hmmmm. What’s the word? _Meaner_ , I suppose, then people in Wintertown or anywhere else, for that matter, but your father and I have told him more than once to just get out there and run as he always does=”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa cuts her mother’s words off because although Cat’s gentle, almost melodic, voice is comforting, Sansa feels the need to apologize for dragging her out on this ridiculously cold night to only sit on a bench outside rather than in the support group’s room inside.

 

“For what?” Cat asks, turning her head to look at her, looking truly surprised as if she has no idea why Sansa would be apologizing to her.

 

Sansa shakes her head and looks down to her mitten-clad hands, folded into fists in her lap. “I… I thought I was ready,” she says, almost whispering. “I want to be ready.”

 

Cat slips an arm around Sansa’s shoulders and pulls her tightly into her side. “We’ll come next week and the week after and the week after. Maybe next time, we’ll get as far as the lobby inside. We’ll take it from here. Each week, we’ll try and get a little farther.”

 

Sansa nods and wipes at her cheeks even though no tears have fallen and she rests her head on her mother’s shoulder as if she is a little girl and not a young woman of twenty-five. Cat certainly doesn’t seem to mind though and Sansa can fell her face curl into a smile from her cheek resting upon her head, and she holds her as tightly to her side as she can.

 

“I love you, Sansa,” Cat then says to her softly.

 

Sansa closes her eyes and feels a wave of warmth wash over her from those words; words she hopes that give Brandon the same reaction when she murmurs them to her. “I love you, too,” she says in return.

 

“You know what I think we need?” Cat asks and then continues before Sansa can answer her. “Breakfast.”

 

For the first time all evening, Sansa laughs and Cat smiles and she rubs her hand up and down Sansa’s arm, pressing her cold lips to Sansa’s cold forehead in a kiss.

 

They both get to their feet and begin walking away from the student union.

 

Sansa’s eyes are moving around as they head down the path back towards the parking lot and she realizes that she’s actually looking for Tormund. She knows that the AA meeting is more than once a week and she doesn’t know if Tormund goes every Wednesday or if he switches it around every week and she realizes that she’s a little disappointed that he doesn’t seem to be around campus that evening.

 

What she had told Jon earlier is true. She likes Tormund. He makes her smile and laugh and though she knows he doesn’t truly mean anything by it, he flatters her with his flirting. That evening they had spent, just the two of them, getting hot chocolate, it had been fun – really fun. Just two people, talking their shared love for the Beatles and different movies.

 

_“I watch nothing, but Disney movies right now, it seems,” Sansa says._

_“You and me both, love,” Tormund grins with a wink and she laughs._

 

She can’t remember the last time she has had a conversation like that with anyone who she isn’t related to and she had loved every second of it. If she had seen Tormund tonight, even with her mom there, she wonders if he would have sat with her again. Knowing Tormund, he would have done so without hesitancy and she would have loved to invite him to eat breakfast with them.

 

She tries to imagine what an evening with Jon would be. If they did something as innocently as going to get hot chocolate together, would they be comfortable? Would they talk and laugh like the old lovers they are or would the conversation be forced and jilted?

 

Jon had basically told her that the ball was in her court and she wonders if she wants to call him and ask if he would like to get a cup of hot chocolate with her.

 

Deep down, she likes to think that she wants to do that. 

 

There is a twenty-four hour diner that is about a mile away from the Stark home and Catelyn drives them there now. There are just a few other patrons at the odd hour of night; well past a normal dinnertime. The waitress shows them to a booth against the window and hands them two menus and she gets their orders of two decaf coffees before she leaves with a promise to be right back.

 

“Would you like me to come with you for your first therapist’s appointment on Friday?” Catelyn asks once their orders for pancakes and eggs have been placed and it’s just the two of them again. “Not to go in with you, obviously, but just to sit and wait in the waiting room.”

 

Sansa pauses to think it over, but then she shakes her head. “I can’t keep asking you to do things like that,” she says and Catelyn blinks at her.

 

“What do you mean?” She asks, frowning slightly, not understanding.

 

“I don’t like making you give up your time like this for me. Coming tonight, wasting an entire night… I’m not your only child, mom,” Sansa tells her as if this is something that Cat needs to be reminded off.

 

Catelyn is quiet for a passing moment and takes a sip of her coffee. “Arya lives a couple of hours away in Torrhen’s Square and you know how she is. If she needs me, she’ll call, but she’ll probably go to your father first. And Robb comes just about every other day to raid our refrigerator. I’ll worry when he _doesn’t_ show up. Bran has been a little man ever since he was twelve and I sometimes feel like he’s older than me. And yes, Rickon still needs me and your father, but he doesn’t need me _right this second_. But you do so this is where I am right now.”

 

Sansa isn’t too sure what to say to that. She takes a sip of her own coffee and then proceeds to study the tabletop design.

 

“When we go to Karhold for Rickon’s meet, your father is going to get us a hotel room for the night. Should he get one for you and Brandon as well?” Cat continues.

 

Sansa nods and doesn’t verbally answer.

 

Catelyn is quiet for a moment and then, “What is going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

 

Sansa feels herself smiling a little at that. “You only think I’m beautiful because people tell me how much I look like you when you were my age.”

 

“Well, they’re not wrong,” Cat replies airily with a shrug and Sansa finds herself laughing softly. “I’m not going anywhere, Sansa. If you need me – at any hour of any day – your father, me or both will be there.”

 

The waitress reappears with their plates and after making sure they don’t need anything, leaves them again. Sansa concentrates on cutting her pancakes into perfect triangle pieces and takes the time to also collect her thoughts. Her mind has been going constantly for the past few years – since Jon really – and she wishes it would just quiet down; just for a little bit.

 

“When I fainted in the market, why did you call Jon?” Sansa asks and she has asked before, but she’s hoping that this time, her mother’s answer will be actually that. An answer.

 

Catelyn is chewing on a mouthful of eggs and she waits until she swallows to answer. “Sansa, I know about you and Jon. What you used to be.”

 

Sansa’s grateful she isn’t chewing or swallowing anything because she’s sure she would be choking from her mom’s words if she was.

 

With wide eyes, she looks to her mom sitting across from her. “What?” She manages to cough out.

 

“I didn’t know when you two were together though I had my suspicions. I didn’t find out until about five years ago,” Catelyn says and her voice is calm and steady and meanwhile, Sansa feels as if her heart is beating so hard, it wants to crack right through her breastplate.

 

“How-” Sansa can’t even get the question out. She can’t even breathe right now.

 

“One night, Jon had called Robb and Robb went to go pick him up from whatever pub he was in. That wasn’t out of the ordinary at all anymore, unfortunately. And Robb brought him to our house so Jon could pass out into one of the extra beds and before he could, Jon let it slip that he missed you more than he could handle and he felt like he couldn’t breathe without you.”

 

Sansa knows she’s sitting and she’s grateful for that because if she wasn’t, she’d be sure that the room is spinning and she’s about to spin right away with it. She’s not feeling hungry in the least and the pieces of pancake that she has eaten, they now rest uncomfortably heavy in her stomach.

 

They know. This whole time, her family has known.

 

“And then you came home and when you did, Jon told your father, Robb, Arya and myself that he was going to quit drinking. We were more than happy to go to meetings with him and support him.”

 

“You know,” Sansa whispers and she’s not able to say anything else. “Everyone knows?” She asks.

 

All sound drops completely from her ears as Catelyn nods her head. Sansa’s eyes drop back to her plate, still with more than half of the food remaining. She can’t even imagine taking another bite. Her entire family knows that she and Jon were together; that she and Jon were in love; that she and Jon broke up. Did they know that they broke up _because_ of the family?

 

“There’s been so many times when I’ve wanted to talk with you about it,” Catelyn admits. “But we all promised Jon that we wouldn’t. He wanted to do things in his own time and when he thought you were ready for him to do something.”

 

“Am I though?” Sansa speaks before she can stop herself. “Am I ready for him to do something? I’m not even ready to go into a support group meeting.”

 

She’s asking because she really doesn’t know. She thinks of Jon’s kiss and what he has told her so far, but there’s still so much she wants him to say to her and _is_ she ready for all of that? Jon finally did something so he must think that she, but why would he think that? Has she been acting differently? It really started when she bought the house. Was moving out of her parents’ house the sign Jon had been waiting for to move towards her again? She had thought moving into her own house was a sign of her getting better, but she hadn’t thought that anyone else would see it as that.

 

“Sansa, you’re the only one who truly knows what’s in your heart. _You_ are the only one who can decide whether you want to be with Jon or not,” Catelyn cuts gently into her thoughts. She makes a move to cut another piece of her own pancakes, but then stops and puts both her knife and fork down. “Are you… do you…? I don’t even know how to word this. Is Ramsay holding you back?” She asks in a rush of words. “Do you miss him?”

 

“No!” Sansa’s aware that she answers too loudly because she can her emphatic answer ring in her ears. She shakes her head fiercely. “No, I don’t miss him. Is that what you think?”

 

“I’m only asking, Sansa,” Catelyn says, her voice forever gentle and never changing. “I’ve read a book after you came home about it and it said that oftentimes, the abused person misses the abuser though they know that they shouldn’t.”

 

“You read a book?” Sansa whispers, her head still spinning.

 

“I just wanted to understand. I _want_ to still understand. And I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t anything that your father, I or anyone else in the family had done.”

 

“Of course it wasn’t,” Sansa shakes her head and she reaches across the table to cover Catelyn’s hand with her own. Catelyn turns and grasps it.  “I just… I wanted to feel like someone loved me and in the beginning, Ramsay made me believe that he did. And even when he was… doing those things to me, I don’t know what it was, but he would do those things and tell me that he loved me and I believed him.”

 

Her eyes sting with tears and looking at her mother, she sees Catelyn’s own eyes glass over with tears.

 

“Well, _I_ love you. And your father loves you. Your brothers and sister love you. And Jon loves you. And we will never let you forget it.”

 

Sansa nods her head, inhaling and exhaling shaky breaths, not wanting to cry in the middle of a diner at eight o’clock at night. “I know,” she whispers and Catelyn squeezes her hand.

 

…

 

Sansa has been standing in Brandon’s bedroom for nearly five minutes, leaning over the crib, just watching him sleep and her fingers ever so gently combing through his curls. He remains sleeping deeply, not aware of his mama standing there, her heart pounding in her chest and her hand trembling ever so slightly, her cell phone clutched in her other hand.

 

He should be here soon. When she had called, he promised he’d be there within twenty minutes and only ten has passed since she called.

 

She had hesitated before she had done so, but he had given her his number and assured her that she could call him for anything at any time. He promised her that he would always come if she needed him.

 

And at the time, she had thanked him though inside, she had told herself that she would never call him. She had told herself that she could be able to handle things herself – even if she knew that to not be _entirely_ true when she thought it. But still, if she ever did need anything, she just thought she’d call Robb.

 

But the nightmare tonight had been so terrible, Sansa had woken herself up with her crying and thrashing at the air, trying to push Ramsay off of her. Lady had been on the bed with her and had begun licking her face, trying to help her wake up and after she did, Sansa sat up, hugging the dog and shaking for so long before she grabbed her phone and called him, heading into the second bedroom to check on Brandon.

 

_“No, Ramsay,” she had cried, pushing him on the chest as his hands ripped at her nightgown._

_“Say it more, love,” he had gasped in her ear. “Try to fight me more. I love it when you fight.”_

Sansa closes her eyes and wishes that she could hit her head enough to wipe these memories – these nightmares – from her mind.

 

She had told him not to ring the bell this late at night and she can hear the soft knock on the front door.

 

She rushes from the bedroom and into the living room, shooting right towards the door. She looks through the peephole and once she sees that it’s definitely him, she unlocks the three locks with trembling fingers. As soon as she throws the door open, she pushes the screen door open and before she can stop herself, she throws herself at Tormund, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and promptly bursting into tears.

 

“Oh, love. I wish I could say that this was the first time a girl greeted me like that,” Tormund says as his arms engulf her, hugging her close, and Sansa is amazed that he can make her laugh right now.

 

The cold nips at her bare feet and she ushers him inside, wiping at her cheeks, embarrassed for having just burst like that in front of him. Tormund is in sweat pants and a sweatshirt and he takes off his coat, Sansa taking it from him and hurrying to go hang it up in the front closet.

 

“I can’t… I can’t thank you enough, Tormund,” Sansa breathes, her heart still trying to return to normal.

 

“It’s no problem, Sansa. I’ve told you that,” he smiles at her and then sits down on her sofa, making himself quite at home, and he leans forward to rub Lady behind her ears. “I wasn’t doing anything besides entertaining myself with a delightful round of Mad Libs. I’ve gotten damn boring since I got sober.”

 

Sansa feels herself wanting to laugh again and she goes to collapse beside him on the sofa. Tormund leans back and looks at her.

 

“Want to talk about it?” He asks.

 

Sansa immediately shakes her head. “Just a bad dream.”

 

She’d rather just forget it; not talk it out and describe it. It’s not the first time she’s had that nightmare and she wishes her subconscious would just erase it from her mind, but unfortunately, she doesn’t think it ever will be. She’s fairly certain that that’s the night Brandon was made.

 

She still doesn’t understand how something so wonderful can come from something so terrible.

 

“Well,” Tormund says. “You survived it. Just remember that that’s what you are. A survivor.”

 

Sansa gives him a small smile and she leans over, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m making you breakfast in the morning before work,” she promises, already growing sleepy once again – feeling safe and warm now that he’s here; amazed at how quickly it happened.

 

“Why do you think I came?” Tormund jokes quietly and Sansa smiles, her eyes becoming heavy.

 

She wakes in what feels like mere minutes later, but she can see the growing gray of dawn creeping in through the living room front window.

 

And someone is knocking on her front door.

 

She sits up with a gasp. She and Tormund both had fallen asleep on the couch hours earlier and are still there. Tormund’s eyes begin to crack open once he hears her wake and he lets out a yawn as he rubs his eyes. Sansa stands up, her eyes flying to the clock she has on the wall. It’s just a little after six. She should have been up a half-hour ago and she has to get Brandon up and get herself ready for work and who is knocking on her door at this hour.

 

“Mama!” Brandon cries from his bedroom.

 

Tormund yawns again. “You want me to get the door or Brandon?”

 

Sansa pauses. If he answers the door, whoever there is going to assume that with Tormund here this early, he spent the night last night and though he has spent the time, it wasn’t like what the person will likely think. But she doesn’t want Tormund to get Brandon because Brandon might be scared at seeing him here this early.

 

“I’ll get Brandon,” Sansa says.

 

“I’ll get the door,” Tormund says, already heading for it, and Sansa hurries into Brandon’s bedroom.

 

“Good morning, sweetling,” Sansa smiles when she sees her son standing up in his crib. He instantly holds his arms out and Sansa smiles, lifting him up into her arms. She kisses him on the cheek. “Oh my goodness, your diaper is dry. Do you have to go to the bathroom?” She then asks.

 

“Yes,” Brandon nods, still sleepily, and she almost laughs. Her son is not a morning person and his mood in the morning after he just wakes up is never not adorable to her.

 

Sansa kisses his cheek again and then bends down, setting him down on the floor. “Go on then.”

 

She smiles as he scampers quickly from the bedroom, heading towards the bathroom. Sansa follows after him, but stops suddenly when she looks into the living room and sees who was knocking on her door this morning. Her smile instantly vanishes.

 

It’s Jon, standing just inside the door with Tormund, holding a coffee tray in his hand, and he’s staring at her and she wishes that she hadn’t had anyone open the door at all.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this chapter flew right out of me and I'm already excited to write the next one. I feel bad because I feel like we're hardly getting any Jon/Sansa at all. I will fix that with the next few chapters.


	13. Thirteen

…

 

**Thirteen.**

“Rain check on breakfast, love,” Tormund says as he gets his coat from the closet. He kisses her cheek as he tugs it on and then goes to Jon, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “See you at work, yeah?”

 

“See you at work,” Jon echoes with a nod.

 

As soon as the front door opens and closes behind Tormund once again, Sansa still can’t find her voice and her eyes can’t leave Jon. She hadn’t been able to thank Tormund for coming when she had called or beg him to stay right now so she won’t be alone with Jon. She has no idea why Jon is here this early – in her home with coffee – but she knows that she doesn’t want to see him.

 

She has been thinking nonstop of what her mom told her the night before over their breakfast dinner.

 

They know. They’ve all known for at least four years now because Jon has told them. And they all decided to keep that from her. How much more do they think they need to keep from her? There are nothing, but secrets in this family all of a sudden – or they’ve always been a family of secrets and she’s never noticed – and it makes her sick. Secrets about _her_ ; people making decisions for her about her and they never think to discuss these things with _her._

 

She loves him. Fine. Is that what Jon and her family want her to say? She won’t say it, but she’ll think it to herself. She loves Jon. She knows – away from Ramsay and back home – and can finally admit, to herself, that she has never stopped loving Jon no matter how many times she tried to tell herself otherwise.

 

She doesn’t care. What has loving a man ever gotten her? Absolutely nothing. Her family seems to be pushing her towards Jon and her family has seemed to take his side in all things over her, and she doesn’t care. She wonders how much Jon has told them about their past relationship; if they still took account of his feelings over hers. She loves him, yes, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be with him – no matter how much her family tries to live her life for her and push her towards him. She has learned her lesson and the only male to ever have her heart again is her son.

 

“Pull-up!” She hears Brandon exclaim from the bathroom. “Flush!” And then the flush of the toilet. “Wash!” She hears him scrambling up the footstool she has placed at the counter and then she hears the water in the sink running.

 

Despite Jon standing there, looking at her, listening to Brandon in the bathroom, repeating the words she has said to him so many times now as they work on potty-training, Sansa can’t help, but smile.

 

A moment later, Brandon comes hurrying into the living room. “Mama, I peed!” He exclaims happily.

 

“Good job, sweetling,” Sansa beams down at him and then holds out her hands. Brandon giggles as he slaps them both with his hands and Sansa laughs slightly.

 

“Jon!” Brandon hops around to look at Jon. “I peed in the toilet!”

 

Jon cracks a small smile at that. “Good job, Little Stark. I still have a problem with that some mornings,” he then adds as he shifts the coffee tray to one hand and holds out his other and Brandon giggles happily as he slaps it.

 

“Come on, Brandon. Time for breakfast,” Sansa says and without a glance in Jon’s direction, she ushers Brandon into the kitchen.

 

First, she lets Lady out the back sliding door and then she begins fixing Brandon his breakfast. She’s aware that Jon is standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, looking awkward and unsure, and Sansa hopes she can prolong that feeling for him for as long as possible. She’s not feeling in a particularly good, generous mood towards Jon Snow – or anyone in her family to be honest – but she is going to focus on getting her son fed before she gets them both ready for the day.

 

“Blueberries or bananas?” Sansa asks as Brandon stands down at her side.

 

“Blueberries!” The boy exclaims excitedly.

 

Sansa smiles and takes one of the four containers she has in the refrigerator. Some mornings, Brandon has steaming hot oatmeal and other days, he’ll have a piece of bread, spread with peanut butter, covered in fruit. She thinks establishing good habits in regards to eating at a young age is important. She thinks of her own mom and how on earth she had juggled five children in the morning at breakfast time – especially since there were always pleas for Pop-Tarts or Cocoa Puffs or something equally terrible for them. Catelyn always stood strong though and Sansa wants to stand strong now with her own son.

 

Besides, Brandon’s never had a Pop Tart or Cocoa Puffs so he doesn’t know what he’s missing anyway.

 

She cut the bread into bite-size pieces and then gets his sip-cup, filling it with milk. Her eyes catch the time on the stove. “Alright. You have time for one episode _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ and then we can get ready for the day. Alright?” She asks and Brandon nods eagerly at the sound of his favorite television show.

 

Still ignoring Jon, Sansa brushes past him and leads Brandon back into the living room. She sets the plate and cup down onto the coffee table and then goes to turn the television on, making sure it’s on the right station for the show.

 

“Good?” She asks, turning back towards Brandon.

 

“Good!” The boy answers, his mouth already full, and Sansa smiles, bending down and kissing his head.

 

Only when she finally turns back towards the kitchen and sees Jon – again – still standing there, holding that coffee tray, and still looking at her – does she decided to finally give him the time of day.

 

With her chin slightly tilted upwards, she walks right past Jon back into the kitchen.

 

“I, um, I brought you a French Vanilla Cappuccino,” Jon finally says.

 

He pulls the cup from the tray and holds it out towards her, but Sansa doesn’t make a move to take it, and after another moment, Jon sets it down on the counter. His eyes fall from hers and he stares down at the floor and for a moment, she is reminded of how shy and awkward this man can be more times than not.

 

When she was young and in love – and _stupid_ – she used to think that no one was more adorable than Jon. There is just something about a man who is as handsome and good-looking as Jon, acting unsure more times than confident. Girls like confidence, yes, but she thinks Jon is able to pull off something other than that is because there is a silent strength to him that is hidden, just beneath the surface. When Sansa was eighteen and fell in love with him, that’s when she finally looked at Jon and saw _him_.

 

Or, at least that was what she thought. Now, she has no idea about anything. Neither in the past or in the present.

 

Her family has taken her life and have decided to do with it what they want. And yes, Sansa knows that she has made a mess of it on her own – to put it mildly – but it’s still _her_ life and they, plus Jon, making decisions about her… it hurts her and angers her, but right now, with Jon, she wants to focus on the angry side of herself.

 

After he held her and told her that he loved her, right here in this kitchen, she has allowed herself second-long daydreams. Asking him to go for a walk and to get some hot chocolate, inviting him over so she could torture him with episodes of _Project Runway_ just like she used to do when she spent the night in his room – though she remembers he never complained and actually, had quite a few opinions involving the designs they saw come down the runway. She has even though about what it would be like if they shared another kiss. Or two.

 

But she isn’t going to think about those things again. Her entire family is moving her life around as if it’s on a chessboard and Sansa is nothing, but the pawn; the weakest player of the game and always the first lost. They want her to be with Jon so they’re interfering and making sure that that is what happens. Sansa is in love with him, still, even after all of this time, but whether she is with Jon or not, she wants it to be _her_ decision. It _should_ be her decision and how dare her family and Jon try to take it away from her.

 

As if she already hasn’t lost enough.

 

“I spoke with your mother last night-” Jon begins, but Sansa interrupts almost immediately.

 

“Shocking,” Sansa practically bites out. “Any new decisions made in regards to me?”

 

Jon’s eyes slightly widen and than his brow furrows ever so slightly. “Decisions…?” He asks, unsurely.

 

“Of course. I clearly have no say in my life and you and the rest of my family feel that way as well,” Sansa says with a false airy tone. Jon keeps looks confused and she feels the urge to just smack him rising within her. But instead, she clenches her hands into fists at her sides. “So when you told my parents and Robb about us, and didn’t tell _me_ that you told them, did you tell them everything?”

 

Jon seems to deflate, his shoulders sinking. “I told them that we were together and that we loved each other and that… that I lost you because I was an asshole.”

 

“I’m amazed you said that about yourself. I had no idea that you considered us breaking up your fault.”

 

Jon’s eyes fly to her. “Of course it was my fault. I knew it was my fault. After… after you walked away, I was waiting for your brother to punch me in the jaw because you told them everything about us and when he didn’t… why didn’t you tell anyone, Sansa? You had every right in the world to tell them.”

 

Sansa crosses her arms over her chest as if shielding herself. She shrugs. “I was your dirty little secret and I didn’t feel too particularly eager to let everyone know that that was what I was.”

 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that; just stares at her.

 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Sansa decides with a shake of her head. “You got what you wanted in the end, Jon. My family loves you. No matter what you did in the past, they love you and they will always love you. I’m just the daughter and thank you for being the one to open my eyes to that.”

 

“Sansa, stop,” Jon says with a shake of his head and he steps forward. “It’s not like that.”

 

“What is it like then? Because from where I’m standing, you treated me like I was nothing and my parents give you a business loan.”

 

“I didn’t…” he trails off with another shake of his head.

 

“You didn’t what? Treat me like I was nothing or tell them _how_ you treated me?” Sansa wonders out loud.

 

She really doesn’t want to know the answer though. Not now. Maybe in a few days – when she’s not so angry. She hopes this anger only lasts for a few days.

 

Jon is quiet and Sansa is as well and the only sounds they can hear are the cartoon Brandon is watching in the living room and Lady out in the backyard, barking – probably at a squirrel.

 

“Do you remember four years ago, when you came home?” Jon asks her in a quiet, steady voice. His eyes are staring at her and they never leave.

 

_“Ned Stark.”_

_She hasn’t heard her father’s voice in nearly a year and it fills her ear and instantly makes her feel warm. “Dad?” She chokes out, her voice rough and shaky._

_“Sansa?” Ned says it as if he can’t quite believe that, but then he spurns into action. “Sansa, baby, where are you? Is everything alright?”_

_Sansa shakes her head for a moment before remembering that she’s clutching the receiver of the payphone in her hand and he can’t see her. She had purposely left her cell phone back at the apartment. Ramsay would be able to track her that way and though she knows it’s probably obvious she went to her parents, Sansa would rather be safe than sorry._

_“I’m at the train station. Can you come get me?” She asks; as if she has to ask._

 

“You had been gone for nearly two years. And when you came home…” Jon trails off then and he exhales a sigh and it sound somewhat shaky to Sansa.

 

She stares at him and her body is still as she waits for him to continue.

 

The few weeks after she came home again, even now, it was a blur. Her parents had taken her to the police to file a restraining order and show them pictures of her body. They had taken her to doctors – for both her and the baby. Sansa came home broken and beaten and pregnant. And so terrified that at any moment, Ramsay would pop out around the next corner and drag her back with him and no one would be able to save her then, she could hardly sleep at night. Or even in a room with every light turned on or the sun streaming through the window.

 

For nearly three months after getting home, she slept in her parents’ bed with her mom or if she did sleep in her own room, Arya or Bran or even Rickon would camp out on the floor next to her. Robb hadn’t lived at home by the time she came back, but he became a near-constant fixture in the Stark house as well. No one let her out of their sight for too long and Cat and Ned hadn’t even wanted her to take showers with the bathroom door locked.

 

And Sansa had been alright with that. She had been alright with all of it. She had been a complete mess and had needed her family to take care of her and when Brandon was born, she needed help with that, too, because she had no idea how to be a mother. She wanted to be the best one possible, but she needed to learn how to be.

 

She always says that being pregnant with Brandon had saved her life and that forever will be true. When that stick turned pink, she gathered all of the courage she hadn’t even known she had and she finally left Ramsay. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, Ramsay probably would have killed her by now.

 

But her family had saved her life, too.

 

And they keep trying to save it; save her and it isn’t as if she doesn’t get that. She does. But they seem to be refusing to even entertain the thought that she can handle anything on her own anymore and they need to always step in and decide everything for her whether Sansa agrees that it’s in her best interest or not.

 

“I remember,” Sansa whispers.

 

“Sansa, your family loves you more than anything,” Jon says and then hesitates before taking a step towards her. Sansa surprises herself by not taking a step back, but he doesn’t come any closer. “ _I_ love you more than anything,” he whispers, but his voice is still strong. “And I made so many mistakes with you and I can’t say I’m sorry enough, but I’m going to try and make it up to you. No matter how long it takes. Even if you don’t want to be with me anymore. I get it if you don’t. But I’m not going to stop trying to make it up to you.”

 

Sansa stares at him. She’s still angry – no use in denying that and saying that she’s not – but if her mother had given her things to think about the night before over breakfast, Jon, now has given her even more.

 

“That ball that you said was in my court? I need it to be on the sidelines for a while,” Sansa tells him, her voice so much stronger than she’s actually feeling right now. “I need… I need time to just _be_ , Jon.”

 

Jon visibly swallows at that and she holds her breath, waiting for him to argue, but instead, he nods his head.

 

“However long you need, I’ll be waiting,” Jon tells her. “Even when you’re ready to pick up the ball again and it’s not being thrown into my court, but someone else’s-” he stops himself and she knows he’s thinking of Tormund. “No matter what you want or what your heart decides, I’ll be so happy to just be your friend. Any way I can be in your life, Sansa, and in Brandon’s-”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa cuts in, her words gracious and genuine.

 

Jon swallows again and looks as if he wants to say something else, but he seems to stop himself before he can. He stares at her for a long moment and Sansa feels as if she wants to say something, too, but she actually has no idea what. This is what she wants. She wants space. She wants to be able to breathe without finding Jon Snow standing there every time she lifts her head. As she said, she needs to just be Sansa for a while without thinking of anything else other than herself and her son.

 

She hopes that doesn’t make her sound too selfish, but at the same time, she _wants_ to be selfish for once.

 

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Jon says and he takes his own cup of coffee from the tray.

 

Sansa takes the tray from him and throws it away. “Thank you for the cappuccino.”

 

“When I was ordering it, I remember that you used to love them, but then I realized that I don’t know if you do anymore. And then I wondered if I should get you anything, but I didn’t want to come here empty-handed-”

 

When Jon is nervous, he rambles, and though Sansa finds it still as adorable now as she used to – she will _never_ say that out loud – she can’t stop herself from assuring him now.

 

“They’re still one of my favorites,” she promises him.

 

Jon exhales at that and gives her the smallest of smiles. “Good. Well, then…” he clears his throat. “I’ll stop bothering you until you tell me otherwise.”

 

“Thank you,” she says again and remains in the kitchen as he leaves the room.

 

“Bye, Little Stark,” he says to Brandon on the way to the front door.

 

“Bye, Jon!” Brandon exclaims back and if she knows her son, Sansa knows that Brandon hadn’t even taken his eyes off of his cartoon to say goodbye.

 

A moment later, she hears the door open and then close again and she exhales a large breath. It’s just her and Brandon and Lady and right now, that’s all she wants it to be. Being away from Jon will help calm her mind – she knows it will and she hopes that what he promised is a promise he’ll actually keep – and she knows they won’t make it easy, but she needs to be away from her family right now, too.

 

She needs to show them, and herself – especially herself – that she can actually stand on her own two feet.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, once again, behind with comments, but I read every single one of them and I am just so stunned at the attention and love this story is receiving. I am so happy I am writing something that makes people have such a reaction. 
> 
> I know this chapter isn't the best, but I'm excited for what's to come. Therapy begins in the next chapter, there is no way the Starks will stay away, Sansa spends time with both Margaery and Tormund and Sansa begins missing Jon. And to answer a very popular question: yes! We will find out Ramsay's fate. 
> 
> Thank you so much again. I don't know if I can thank everyone enough for all of the reads, comments and kudos you are giving this story.


	14. Fourteen

…

 

**Fourteen.**

_“Jon,” Sansa laughs softly as she places the case as carefully as she can onto the kitchen table with Jon behind her, his arms already wrapped around her waist and his face buried to the side of her neck, placing kisses on the delicate skin that will more than likely leave little love bruises._

_Robb obviously isn’t home, she almost says, but she bites it back down before she can._

_“What’s this?” Jon asks, his arms still around her waist, but his eyes are now on the plastic case on the table._

_“Oh,” Sansa smiles. “I was in a baking mood and I know how much you love chocolate.” Sansa slowly pries back the top lid to show the circular, layered cake beneath. “Chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting. And then sprinkles because sprinkles-”_

_“-make you inexplicably happy,” Jon finishes for her, still staring at the cake as if he has never seen one before. “You baked me a cake?” He then asks as if he can’t really believe it._

_She blushes and gives a little shrug. “Of course,” she replies and doesn’t offer another reason._

_She_ had _been in a baking mood and in her mind, what says_ “I’ve been thinking of you” _more than that person’s favorite kind of cake? She loves to bake nearly as much as she loves sewing and she imagines that if she doesn’t pursue a career in one, she’ll follow down the path of the other._

_“We need plates,” she begins to say and step from his embrace, but before she can, Jon turns her around in his arms so she’s facing him and her smile on her face as she meets his eyes is instant._

_Jon stares at her for a long moment- not saying anything; just staring. His eyes are so dark and intense, he makes her stomach turn itself into knots and she feels the blush on her face deepening. Whenever Jon looks at her like that, she admits that she’s never entirely too sure what to do._

_He looks at her like she’s everything he’s ever wanted and could ever want. No one has ever looked at her like Jon looks at her and she can’t imagine anyone ever looking at her like that._

_Jon lifts a hand to her cheek then. “I love you, Sansa,” he says to her in a low, quiet voice; the kind of voice that reminds her of when they’re in bed together and it always makes her shiver._

_Now is no exception._

_“I love you, too,” she says, almost in a whisper, and Jon moves in then, his lips pressing into hers in a kiss that immediately grows passionate and Sansa loops her arms around his neck, holding onto him, as his arms drop down to her waist, holding her tight and close as his mouth moves against her hungrily._

_Sansa is thinking she needs to bake him a cake more often._

…

 

Sansa stands in the baking aisle of the market, staring at the containers of cocoa, wondering if she could buy a couple. She has baked a couple of times since she and Brandon have moved into their new home, but there hadn’t been time for more and her fingers are itching.

 

She misses baking and she’s beginning to enter one of her moods where she wants to do it more than anything else. Brownies or cookies or lemon cakes or… chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting. She nearly shakes her head at that last one, but continues staring at the containers of cocoa.

 

She has her first therapy session later that evening and then, it’s the weekend and she will have two glorious days of doing nothing except spending every waking moment with Brandon, getting some sewing done and now, more than likely, baking as well.

 

There is music playing softly over the market’s intercom system and she recognizes the song immediately. A wordless, acoustic version of _While My Guitar Gently Weeps_ – one of her favorite songs in existence – and it only takes a few seconds before Sansa begins singing the words, softly to herself as she continues studying the different brands of cocoa, looking for the usual brand she buys while baking.

 

_I look at the world,_

_And I notice it’s turning,_

_While my guitar gently weeps._

_With every mistake,_

_We must surely be learning,_

_Still my guitar gently weeps._

Mind made up, Sansa takes down two containers of cocoa from the shelf and carefully puts them into her trolley. Brandon is curled up in the main part, sleeping, and she doesn’t want to wake him.

 

When Sansa picked him up from daycare an hour earlier, Shae had mentioned that Brandon’s nose kept running and he said his throat scratched. Sansa immediately swept him up into her arms and asked how he was feeling.

 

“Sleepy,” the boy mumbled, his head finding his mama’s shoulder, resting heavily.

 

Sansa nearly wants to cancel her therapy session tonight. If Brandon is getting sick, she doesn’t want to leave him. What kind of mother leaves their baby when they’re sick? But she doesn’t want to cancel on her therapist at the last moment though either. Sansa feels like if she cancels and doesn’t go, it will be like the group meetings and she’ll never be able to get herself to call and make another appointment.

 

As Brandon sleeps in the trolley, Sansa has already gotten all of the ingredients needed to make chicken noodle soup that weekend. They have no plans for the next two days except making sure Brandon gets plenty of fluids and rest. Right now, it just seems like a cold, but if he worsens, she will take him to the clinic. Through the university, she has excellent health insurance and she will take advantage of it.

 

“So, if you had a date with a man and you were going to a bowling alley, is this what you would wear?”

 

Sansa turns her head to see Margaery coming down the aisle towards her and when she sees Sansa looking, Margaery does a quick twirl. With her shift having ended, she has changed from her black pants, polo shirt and the market’s apron into a dark maroon dress and black heels and her hair has been taken down from its ponytail to hang down around her face and shoulders in its easy curls.

 

Sansa smiles and nods, but then after a moment, she gives Margaery a closer look. “Bowling alley?”

 

“I told him I’ve never gone bowling before and as soon as he found out, he was more determined to take me.”

 

“What’s his name?” Sansa asks though she’s ninety-nine percent certain she already knows.

 

“Oh, just a man I met here. Bob,” Margaery replies casually with a wave of her hand.

 

“ _Bob_?” Sansa can’t help, but start laughing. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

 

“What are you insinuating, Sansa Stark?” Margaery demands, trying to bite back her smile.

 

“Did you know that my brother, _Robb_ , was on the bowling team in high school?” Sansa asks, beginning to push the trolley further up the aisle and Margaery falls into step beside her.

 

“The bowling team? You don’t say,” Margaery comments and Sansa laughs again.

 

“Have you ever watched professional bowling on television?” Sansa asks though again, she already knows the answer. To no surprise, Margaery shakes her head. “It’s actually very intense. Robb loves bowling. Absolutely loves it. And for a while, when he was younger, he actually considered trying to go pro with it.”

 

“Really?” Margaery seems genuinely surprised. “Why didn’t he?”

 

Sansa shrugs. “Our mom and dad stepped in. Thought pursuing something a bit more _realistic_ would be more beneficial to him in the long run.”

 

“I was wondering why he was in finance. When I asked him about it, he wasn’t all that enthused about it.”

 

“Sometimes, adults just have jobs. They don’t have to be passionate about them,” Sansa says, finding herself needing to defend her parents because now that she’s a parent, herself, she completely understands why Ned and Catelyn had tried to get Robb away from something as unsteady as bowling.

 

It isn’t as if every fantastic bowler in the world becomes a professional with the sponsors and the money.

 

And though while Robb is fantastic – and maybe he _could_ have gone professional – having a typical nine-to-five job is just more certain and stable. If Brandon comes to her one day and tells her that he wants to play professional rugby or wants to be an actor, Sansa – of course – will support him, but also perhaps make suggestions on “fall back” life options.

 

“Well, I look forward to making a complete fool of myself in front of him,” Margaery smiles.

 

Sansa reaches over and gives her arm a gentle squeeze. “You look beautiful and Robb will love spending his night tonight, teaching you properly.”

 

“You made that sound quite filthy just now, just so you’re aware. Not sure that that was your intent,” Margaery gives her a saucy smile and wink.

 

“I have a feeling that anything I say in regards to you and Robb, you’ll interpret it as filthy,” Sansa says, pulling the trolley to a stop at the dairy cases.

 

“You’re not wrong there,” Margaery grins. “Oh my goodness, I just noticed that he’s sleeping,” Margaery says, noticing Brandon in the trolley as Sansa puts down a carton of milk, making sure it doesn’t fall into him, and Margaery leans down, running a light hand over his head. “He’s warm.”

 

“He doesn’t feel the best at the moment. This weekend, we’re both staying in our pajamas and eating chicken noodle soup,” Sansa says, leaning over as well, placing her hand against Brandon’s forehead.

 

He is warm, but he’s not burning – thank goodness – and he seems to be the same amount of warm as he had been when she last felt his forehead not even ten minutes ago.

 

Margaery watches Brandon sleep for a moment and then lifts her eyes to Sansa.

 

“Let me know if you need anything this weekend,” she says.

 

“I will,” Sansa promises with a nod and small smile and knowing that Margaery absolutely means that, Sansa is beginning to feel a little warm, too.

 

…

 

Her parents don’t know she has her first therapy session tonight. If they did – and also knew that Brandon was feeling a little less than good – both Ned and Cat would immediately be in her driveway before she would even be able to hang up the phone from their conversation.

 

But Sansa meant what she said about trying to do some things on her own without always falling back, knowing that her family would be there to help her with anything and everything – even if she had asked for their help or not – and this is the first thing she’s going to do without them. She’s going to her first therapy session on her own and she had asked Nan if she would mind babysitting for just an hour or two that night. She had been hesitant to ask, but Nan had all, but leapt to accept when Sansa had broached the subject earlier that afternoon at work.

 

And with him not feeling the best, Brandon had already been in his pajamas and dozing on the couch when Nan had arrived and Sansa had left – hugging and kissing Brandon over and over again and making Nan promise her that she would call if _anything_ happened.

 

“Sansa?”

 

Sansa is sitting in the doctor’s waiting room – the only person in there at the moment, waiting. It is nearly six o’clock on a Friday and Sansa thinks that she might be the doctor’s last appointment of the day.

 

Sansa lifts her head and gets her first look at the therapist she had found online – doing her research and studying reviews left by others.

 

Dr. Brienne Tarth is tall – not just for a woman, but for a human being – and she has blonde hair cut fashionably short and her warm smile at Sansa, somehow, seems to put Sansa immediately at ease with the stranger.

 

Sansa closes the magazine and returns it to the coffee table before standing up. “Yes, I’m Sansa.”

 

“Such a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Tarth,” the other woman says, still smiling, and holds out her hand.

 

Sansa steps forward to shake it and then Dr. Tarth takes a step back into her office.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Sansa hesitates for a moment before swallowing and giving a jerky nod of her head, stepping into the office – decorated with lush carpet on the floor and dark wood furniture. Sansa sees quite a few degrees framed and hanging on the wall. She also sees that there are two chairs facing one another and then a sofa against one wall with a chair next to it.

 

“Wherever you think you feel most comfortable,” Dr. Tarth says, closing the door, reading her mind, and Sansa goes to sit in one of the padded arm chairs.

 

Dr. Tarth comes to sit across from her in the other, matching chair.

 

Sansa takes another moment to look around the office before her eyes fall on Dr. Tarth. The woman is watching her and when she sees Sansa look at her, she gives her that same warm smile.

 

“I’ve never done this before,” Sansa feels the need to tell her.

 

“I can tell,” Dr. Tarth smiles. She crosses her legs and Sansa notes that there is a yellow notepad in the woman’s lap, but the pen is completely at ease in her hand. Actually, all of Dr. Tarth is at ease and Sansa tries to get herself to be as well.

 

“So, do I start with my childhood?” Sansa then wonders out loud.

 

“You can start wherever you wish,” Dr. Tarth tells her. “Why don’t you tell me why you felt you needed to come speak to a therapist?”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to answer that, but then clamps it shut and shakes her head. “I don’t think… I don’t know if I’m ready to say that reason yet.”

 

“That’s alright,” Dr. Tarth assures her with a smile. “Would you like to tell me anything I should know about you right off the bat?”

 

“I have a son,” Sansa tells her, smiling faintly as she usually does when Brandon is on her mind. “He’s turning three in a few weeks. I’m planning a birthday party for him.”

 

“Is there a particular theme?”

 

“Pirates,” Sansa says, smiling a bit easier now. “He’s absolutely in love with pirates. He wants to be one when he grows up. I just hope that changes as he gets a bit older.”

 

Dr. Tarth smiles at that. “Are you married?”

 

Sansa’s smile fades at the question; such an innocent question. “No, I’m not married,” she replies quietly. “I, I used to want to get married – more than anything – but not anymore. Brandon’s dad and I, well, he’s the reason why I’m here.”

 

Dr. Tarth nods knowingly and gives her a small smile; as if sending her encouragement that she’s doing just fine. “Is he the man you wished you were married to?”

 

“Goodness, no,” Sansa shakes her head fiercely now. “Never him.” She pauses and swallows. “He was a terrible man,” Sansa whispers. “And that’s putting it lightly.”

 

“Did he hurt you?” Dr. Tarth asks.

 

Sansa chooses not to answer that; instead focusing on the soft tan carpet.

 

“Is he the reason you don’t want to get married anymore?” Dr. Tarth tries a different approach.

 

“Not every woman has to get married,” Sansa answers. “Her life isn’t defined by whether she is or not.”

 

“Very true,” Dr. Tarth nods. “I’m not married.”

 

“Did you ever want to be?”

 

“I have a boyfriend. He asks about once a year though he knows I won’t accept.”

 

“So why does he keep asking?” Sansa wonders while admitting to herself that this isn’t at all how she imagined her first therapy session to go.

 

“Because he’s a very stubborn man. But this is your session, Sansa,” Dr. Tarth than reminds her. “Would you like to talk about something other than marriage?”

 

“I… I honestly don’t know,” Sansa shakes her head and lowers her eyes, once again, to the carpet and she doesn’t even remember anymore how the marriage discussion came about.

 

She wonders how Brandon is feeling. Her phone is on vibrate and it’s in her coat pocket and she hasn’t felt it yet. She hopes that Nan has put him to bed and he’s just sleeping. If she has to take him to the doctor, she can’t – nor does she want to – keep that from her parents. Brandon is their grandson and they have every right to know about his health.

 

The last time Brandon had been sick – another cold the year before – Cat had showed her everything that Sansa could do to make him feel better and Sansa had taken a step back and had allowed her mom to sort of take over; at the time it was because that Sansa had had no idea what she was doing and Cat had taken care of five children – plus Jon – so obviously, she knew a bit more about sick children than Sansa.

 

But if Brandon gets sicker now and Sansa calls her parents, she knows Cat will, again, take over and Sansa doesn’t know what to say to her to keep her from doing so.

 

“There was someone… years ago,” Sansa hears herself say, her eyes still settled on the carpet and she can feel Dr. Tarth’s eyes on her, but Sansa can’t bring herself to look at him. “I don’t blame him for anything that happened between myself and Brandon’s dad, but… I have a habit of blaming him for so many other things.” She picks at a piece of invisible lint from the knee of her blue jeans.

 

“What is his name?” Dr. Tarth asks.

 

Sansa is quiet for so long, she wonders if her hour-long session will end before she finally answers.

 

But then she says, “Jon.” She swallows. “And he’s back in my life now, but I keep pushing him away and he’s staying away now because he knows it’s what I want, but I’m-” she stops herself abruptly.

 

She exhales a deep breath and lifts her eyes to the woman sitting across from her who’s still a complete stranger, but Sansa is finding that it’s not as difficult to speak to a complete stranger as she had first thought it would be. Maybe someone outside is who she has needed this whole time.

 

Dr. Tarth sits there quietly, waiting for Sansa to continue; if she wants to continue.

 

“I was eighteen and I fell in love with him completely and I wanted to marry _him_ , but… it just didn’t work out,” Sansa finishes lamely with a shrug.

 

“Judging by your words, I’m guessing that there was something a bit more than that,” Dr. Tarth suggests.

 

“There was. I _think_ there was, but I don’t know.”

 

“Have you just come out and asked him?”

 

Sansa pauses at that. She has, hasn’t she? It certainly feels like it.

 

“Even if you have, you should ask him again. People sometimes forget how much can be accomplished when they just talk with one another and listen,” Dr. Tarth suggests. “Even if this relationship ended so long ago, it obviously has stayed with you and you deserve the chance to know exactly why it ended. Perhaps, once you know, you’ll be able to move on from it.”

 

Sansa frowns a little at that.

 

Dr. Tarth makes it sound so easy. Just walk up to Jon and ask him why their relationship ended. At Rickon’s cross-country meet, Jon had made it sound like he broke up with her before she could break up with him, but… there had to be more to it than that. There had to be. With everything she and Jon had shared together and talked about, there had to be something more than just doing something before you thought the other would do it first.

 

Their relationship had been deeper than that. It _had_ to have been.

 

“Sansa, may I ask something?” Dr. Tarth sits forward a little.

 

“I thought that’s what I was paying for,” Sansa is able to say wryly with a small smile and Dr. Tarth smiles as well, before it fades.

 

“I usually ask this question in the first session and then, as our sessions continue, I will ask you the same question a bit of time from now to see if your answer has changed,” Dr. Tarth says and Sansa looks at her.

 

“And if it changes, what does that tell you?” Sansa wonders.

 

“Depending on how you answer now, it can tell me quite a bit.”

 

Sansa pauses and then nods, feeling nervous over what the question can possibly be.

 

“Alright,” She agrees.

 

“And I want _you_ to answer this. Not Sansa, the mom, or Sansa, who comes to therapy sessions. Just you.”

 

Sansa sits still and keeps looking at her without saying anything. She gives the smallest nod.

 

“Do you know what _you_ want? If you could have anything in this world, do you know what it would be?”

 

Sansa is surprised at how _unsurprised_ she is as one word enters her mind immediately.

 

One word. A simple word. A simple name.

 

She waits an eternal moment before answering the doctor’s question; answering it with a shrug.

 

“I don’t know,” she lies, her eyes, once again, staring down to the carpet.

 

But honestly, she just wants a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles and someone with strong arms and black curly hair, kissing her neck. 

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really a Sansa story, told strictly from Sansa's POV, with a bit of Sansa/Jon mixed in. The next chapter, I have something for Jon/Sansa planned that I've been excited to write for a while now. As always, thank you so, so much for loving this story and responding to it as you have. It honestly overwhelms me every single time I receive a comment on it.


	15. Fifteen

…

 

**Fifteen.**

Just as she had planned, she and Brandon spend the entire weekend inside their home.

 

After getting home from her therapy session on Friday evening and trying to hand Nan money for babysitting – the woman finally taking it though Sansa has a suspicion it will be back on her desk in the library on Monday – Sansa changes into her fleece pajamas and sits on the sofa, holding and cuddling Brandon and helping him blow his nose as they watch an episode of his favorite cartoon, _Hubba Bubba Hotel_. And she knows Brandon really isn’t feeling well because he doesn’t laugh once.

 

When the program ends, Sansa stands up and hefts Brandon up into her arms, beginning to carry him to his room, her hand rubbing his back soothingly.

 

“Mama, your bed,” Brandon murmurs and shakes his head against her shoulder.

 

Sansa stops. “You want to sleep in my bed tonight?” She asks and he nods his head this time. She can’t help, but smile and she turns her head, her lips finding his head. “Of course, sweetling. Is your diaper dry?” She asks as she pats his bottom and finds that it is.

 

In her room, Sansa goes to the side left side of the bed – the side she doesn’t sleep on – and after turning on the lamp on the bedside table, bathing the room in a warm, soft glow, she pulls the covers back and lays Brandon down. She smiles as the boy immediately nestles down into the flannel sheets and Sansa covers him with the goose-down comforter and the fleece blanket she keeps on top of that to keep the comforter clean since Lady sleeps with her each night.

 

Lady, now, jumps onto the bed and curls up and Sansa leans down to brush some of Brandon’s curls back and gives him a kiss on his head.

 

“I love you so much, my Little Stark,” she murmurs to him as he is already drifting off to sleep.

 

Watching him for another moment, Sansa then goes into his bedroom next door where she takes the stuffed wolf he sleeps with every night and his baby blanket that she had quilted for him herself during the months of pregnancy. She then goes into the kitchen to make sure the backdoor is locked – though there is no reason why it wouldn’t be – and she filled Brandon’s plastic cup with the snap on lid with water in case he woke during the night, coughing. Due to his age, she is nervous to give him cough syrup of any kind and if his cough continues, she’ll take him to the doctor, but she’s hoping the soup and a few days in his pajamas will cure him. She prays it will be that simple.

 

Turning off the lights, she goes to the front door then, again, making sure it’s locked and then she turns on the security system, waiting for the soft beep to let her know that it’s activated.

 

“Mama,” Brandon mumbles once Sansa comes back into the bedroom.

 

“I’m here, Brandon,” Sansa assures him as she climbs into her side of the bed, setting the cup of water down onto the bedside table on her side of the bed. “I’ve brought you Moe and your blanket,” she says as she places the wolf and the quilt next to him.

 

“Thank you,” Brandon mumbles and Sansa lays down on her side, facing him, watching him as his eyes droop shut again and his body rises up and down steadily with teach breath he takes. He lifts his arm and Sansa smiles, slipping Moe the wolf into the crook of his arm, and he hugs the stuffed animal tightly.

 

“I love you, Brandon,” Sansa whispers to him and leans over to kiss him on his head.

 

In her opinion, she can never tell her son that she loves him too many times.

 

Brandon mumbles something, but he drops off into sleep immediately thereafter and Sansa isn’t too sure what he meant to say. She kisses his head again and then leans over him to off the lamp, diving the room into darkness. It’s still early – not even nine – but between Brandon not feeling well, work all day and her first therapy session that evening, Sansa feels drained.

 

She remains lying on her side, tucking her hands between her cheek and the pillow, watching Brandon as he sleeps deeply and listening to Lady’s soft snores from the foot of the bed. The wind is blowing outside, pushing against the windows and the siding of the house, and just hearing it, Sansa shivers a little and burrows herself deeper beneath the covers while making sure Brandon is properly covered as well.

 

_People sometimes forget how much can be accomplished when they just talk with one another and listen._

Dr. Tarth’s words from earlier play themselves on repeat in her mind and she wonders if it would truly be easy. She feels as if she has attempted – several times – over the past few weeks to get Jon to talk with her, but he always remains so close-lipped except with a few sparse things, but when he does answer her question, it only leaves her with a dozen more questions; questions he never seems to have any intent on answering. He seems perfectly content with remaining silent while it makes Sansa just want to scream.

 

She knows why she broke up with him and walked away that day, but she has always felt that there was perhaps more to it; why Jon had done certain things and hadn’t fought for her. She knows he had loved her. She _knows_ it in her heart. But what if it really is the truth of things that while he had loved her, he had just loved her family more? Sansa doesn’t know if she’s prepared for that answer.

 

And yet… she has to know. Dr. Tarth is right. Sansa knows that hearing it from someone completely outside of it all had completely made all the difference. She has to know so she can finally move on – at least from Jon. Moving on from Ramsay and what he had done to her will take more time, but at least, one of the weights clamped to her ankle will be able to be let go if she and Jon have an actual conversation. About everything. Not just what Jon feels like answering.

 

Jon has stayed away just as she had wanted. The work in the library’s lower level is nearly done and has reached a point where Jon is not needed there anymore. He and Tormund have taken another job across town while Edd and Val stayed behind to finish up the rest of the work. And her sunroom is about half-way done, but he has stopped coming to work on that as well; instead sending Tormund and Val.

 

Sansa is grateful that Jon has stayed away and isn’t there every time she turns around, but what’s confusing to her – and something she had _never_ anticipated happening – is that… well, if she’s being honest with herself, she actually _misses_ seeing him at least once a day.

 

She’s not sure why she does. She went through plenty of days without seeing him and she hadn’t missed him then – let alone thought about him – but now, that he’s back in her life, she wonders if she should hate herself for wanting him to be there.

 

What in the seven hells is the matter with her?

 

Sansa tells herself that she should hate herself for feeling _anything_ towards Jon and that she shouldn’t even think about Jon and that she should definitely _not_ miss Jon. But she _does_ need to speak with Jon. She can’t deny that. Maybe…

 

Maybe when she speaks with Jon – about everything – maybe she won’t miss him anymore.

 

…

 

“Mama.”

 

Sansa hears Brandon’s voice and it slowly begins to pull her from her deep sleep.

 

“Mama.”

 

Brandon touches her on the nose and Sansa scrunches it up, making him giggle. She smiles, her eyes still closed, but she begins to slowly pry them open. Her smile remains when she sees Brandon lying on his stomach next to her, propped up on his elbows, and he looks so much better than he just did last night.

 

“Are you feeling better?” Sansa asks, her hand going to his forehead. He’s not as warm as he was yesterday either and Sansa exhales a sigh of relief with that.

 

Brandon nods. “Tired,” he answers.

 

“Well, good thing we’re going to stay home all weekend in our pajamas,” Sansa smiles. “Do you think that sounds alright?” Brandon nods a bit eagerly and she smiles, running her hand over his head, trying to calm his bed-head curls. “And I’m going to make us chicken noodle soup for dinner tonight and we’re both going to take naps and it’s going to be the best weekend, sweetling,” Sansa promises him.

 

Brandon smiles and then nestles close to her and Sansa wraps both arms around his small body, holding him close. She’s not sure how long they lay there, but she could easily go back to sleep if the opportunity presented itself. The morning is quiet. The wind is still blowing and she knows she’s going to turn the heat up as soon as she pulls herself from the bed.

 

“Mama, I go pee,” Brandon says, lifting his head from where he has been resting it on her chest.

 

And Brandon has said the magic word because Lady then jumps down from the bed and comes to Sansa’s side, letting out quiet whines, dancing back and forth.

 

“Alright, let’s begin the day,” Sansa declares and kisses Brandon’s head before she pulls herself from the bed and then turns, swooping Brandon up and then setting him down on his feet on the floor.

 

She smiles as he immediately scampers from the bedroom and down the little hallway into the bathroom and Sansa and Lady leave the bedroom to go into the kitchen, Sansa stopping by the front door first so she can turn the alarm system off. She then goes to the back door in the kitchen, where Lady is already waiting, and as Sansa lets her out into the back door, her cell phone on the kitchen table begins to read.

 

She sees that it’s her mother and Sansa can’t help, but look to the clock on the stove. It’s just a little bit past eight and Sansa suppresses a sigh at her mother calling so early.

 

“Hi, mom,” Sansa answers, hoping she sounds relaxed and casual. “What’s up?”

 

“Good morning, honey. Your father is making pork chops tonight for dinner. Does five o’clock work for you and Brandon?” Catelyn asks.

 

“Actually, mom…” Sansa takes a deep breath.

 

There’s no reason to be nervous, she tells herself. This is her mom and her mom is honestly her best friend. She can tell her mom anything. Well, _almost_ anything.

 

“I already promised Brandon that we would have a pajama weekend. I went to the market yesterday to make sure we have everything and we don’t have any plans to leave the house until Monday morning,” she says, leaving out anything about Brandon feeling a little under the weather.

 

If she even utters one word of that to her mom, Catelyn will swoop in here and not leave for days.

 

“What are you going to eat for dinner?” Catelyn asks and Sansa can practically _hear_ Catelyn’s slight frown and furrowed brow from over the phone.

 

Sansa swallows down the first reply that comes to mind. She’s more than capable of feeding herself and her son something for dinner.

 

“I bought the things and I’m going to make us chicken noodle soup tonight,” Sansa says. “With the cold outside and the wind and our pajama weekend, it just sounds perfect…” she trails off then and she wonders why she allows herself to revert back to a thirteen-year-old girl, always so eager to please her parents in everything she does; failing them or disappointing them being her biggest fear.

 

Ned and Cat had always said that they loved their five children for being so different from one another and they had often said that Sansa was their perfect child. They were always so proud of her – straight A’s and exemplary sewing skills and active in school clubs. Never a bad word was said about Sansa from any of her teachers or her fellow students. Ned and Cat never had a reason to disapprove of their oldest daughter. And when she went to Winterfell University, it seemed like she was going to follow down much the exact same path.

 

But then she met a boy and thought she was in love with him and when he moved back home to Dreadfort, Sansa moved with him. And they didn’t see her again until she returned, pregnant, beaten and broken. Sansa knows she had scared them nearly half to death when she came home and she knows that they act like they are still scared half to death. But she wishes they could see that she’s trying. She might never be their perfect child again, but she’s trying to become some semblance of that again.

 

Sansa wishes she knew how to say all of that to both of them.

 

“What about tomorrow? Your father or I could drive over there and bring you some leftovers for tomorrow,” Catelyn suggests and Sansa knows her mom well enough to know it’s not really a suggestion.

 

She is quite determined to come over for some reason. Sansa feels a prick on the back of her neck.

 

“Is everything okay?” Sansa dares to ask.

 

“Of course,” Catelyn answers. “I just… I _miss_ you. I haven’t seen you in nearly three days and it’s been quite a while since I’ve gone that long without seeing you and Brandon.”

 

Sansa immediately feels a stab of guilt.

 

Distancing herself from her mom and dad doesn’t mean cutting them completely from their life. It can’t. There has to be another way to show her parents that she wants her independence and her own life while also keeping them present in hers and their grandson’s life.

 

She suddenly wishes that she could call Dr. Tarth and ask her about this.

 

“How about Monday, you meet me on campus and then you, Brandon and I can have lunch together?” Sansa suggests. An hour-long innocent lunch, she adds silently in her head.

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Catelyn immediately agrees. “I’ll talk to you later today, dear. Call me if you need your father or me for anything.”

 

“I will,” Sansa promises and she has just hung up when Brandon comes into the kitchen and she knows he’s still not feeling the best because he doesn’t run or skip into the room.

 

Sansa’s glad that he hadn’t come in when she was still on the phone with her mother. Brandon is still too young to even understand the concept of lying and if Grandma Catelyn asked how he was, Brandon would answer her honestly. And with that, Catelyn would have come and wouldn’t leave for days until she was sure both Brandon and Sansa were in tip-top health once again.

 

“Alright, sweetling?” Sansa asks and Brandon smiles and nods. “Now it’s _my_ turn to go to the bathroom and we’ll get you a fresh pull-up and then we’ll start our pajama day. What would you like for breakfast?”

 

She bends over slightly and takes Brandon’s hands in hers.

 

“Anything you want,” she then adds. Her baby boy is sick. He deserves to have anything he wants for breakfast.

 

“Pancakes!” Brandon exclaims without having to think it through for even a second.

 

Sansa can’t help, but laugh. “Pancakes, it is,” she nods and Brandon grins, gripping her hands and beginning to bounce up and down. Sansa laughs again. “I don’t know if they’ll be as good as Aunt Arya’s, but I’ll try.”

 

Brandon just keeps bouncing with excitement – still not feeling the best, but pancakes are pancakes – and Sansa just laughs again. Pajama weekend, so far, is off to a pretty good start.

 

…

 

After a breakfast of pancakes, Brandon lays down on the couch – Sansa covering him blankets and making sure he has his stuffed wolf, Moe – and Lady lays with him and Brandon watches episodes of _Project Runway_. He prefers his cartoons, but he knows that this is his mama’s favorite TV show and he likes looking at all of the colors. He likes watching it with mama because with each challenge, she always sketches out what she would design and Brandon thinks his mama makes the prettiest drawings.

 

But Sansa isn’t in the living room with him right now. She’s in the kitchen, cleaning up from breakfast, and then she drags the large pot out from the pantry and begins making the chicken soup, wanting it to cook on the stove all day for dinner that evening. It has started to snow and the wind is blowing, she has turned up the heat inside a couple of degrees and if there was ever a weekend needed to be pajama weekend, this is the perfect one.

 

She imagines dinner at her parents’ house tonight. She’s sure it will be wonderful and she wonders what family is going to be there or if it will be a quiet night of just Ned, Cat and Rickon, but Sansa is glad that she had been able to tell her mom that they weren’t coming tonight. She just wants to be home with her son for the next two days.

 

When everything is finally in the pot and is now cooking on the stove, Sansa cleans up the rest of the kitchen and then heads back into the living room. Brandon has fallen asleep and Sansa smiles faintly, watching him for a moment, before going and lifting him up in her arms. He remains asleep, his head finding her shoulder and she makes sure she has Moe in her hand as she carries Brandon to his room.

 

Once getting him settled in his crib and covered with his blankets and Moe the wolf at his side, she stays for a moment longer, watching him sleep, her fingers slowly treading through his curls. He’s not as warm as he was before and thank goodness for that. It must have been just some kind of twenty-four hour bug or something.

 

Out in the living room, Sansa sits on the couch, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and scratching Lady behind her ear as the dog rests her head in her lap. It is an episode of the fifth season, one she has seen many, many times, but she settles in and watches the rest of it, imagining – as she always does while watching this show – what she would have done if she had been a contestant and had been given this challenge.

 

Before she even fully realizes what she’s doing, Sansa’s phone is in her hand. He’s not in her contacts, but she knows his number nonetheless. He hasn’t changed it in years and she’s not surprised that she still remembers it. She wonders if she’s loaded into his contacts, because when he answers, he sounds hesitant; almost as if he can’t believe that she’s actually calling him.

 

That makes two of them.

 

“Hello?” Jon’s voice fills her ear.

 

For a moment, even though he clearly knows it’s her, Sansa considers for half a second to hang up.

 

“I’m torn between watching season seven or season eight of _Project Runway_ ,” Sansa says without saying anything else; not even a greeting.

 

She feels more comfortable just diving into it. She suspects they’re both confused as to why she’s calling him and she hopes he doesn’t ask why she is because Sansa already knows she doesn’t have an answer.

 

Jon is quiet for a moment. “Season eight. The people in seven are better, but eight has better challenges. Imagine if they had those challenges on any of the earlier seasons.”

 

Sansa can’t help, but laugh at that. “Still upset about _that_ episode?” She finds herself teasing.

 

“It was American sportswear for a modern-day Jackie Kennedy and they made cocktail dresses!” Jon suddenly exclaims – as if he has been keeping this pent up, waiting for someone to mention it so he could release it – and Sansa laughs again.

 

“Well, obviously I’m going to have to watch that episode again,” Sansa smiles.

 

Silence falls between them and Sansa begins chewing on her bottom lip. She’s the one who called him. She has to follow through on her reason for that. She’s shrunken back from too much over the past few years. She can’t do it anymore. She doesn’t want to do it anymore.

 

What’s the point of having a therapist if she isn’t going to listen to the advice Dr. Tarth gives her?

 

Sansa takes a deep breath. “Would you like to come over and we could watch the episode together?”

 

The words leave her mouth so quickly, the words are all mashed together and all sound like one long word, but she’s fairly certain that Jon has understood because all she hears on the other end of the phone is silence.

 

Complete and utter silence.

 

Silence that is so _silent_ , Sansa actually pulls the phone away from her ear and see that that call is still being timed so she knows that he hasn’t hung up.

 

She puts the phone back to her ear and feels her stomach tighten and begin to knot itself. But just as she opens her mouth to tell Jon that he doesn’t have to come, Jon finally says something.

 

“Yes.”

 

Sansa releases a breath she had been holding. “And we’ll talk,” she adds though she’s aware that it comes out as more like a question and that hadn’t been her intent. She doesn’t want to _ask_ if they can talk. She _wants_ to talk. But again, Jon speaks before she can clarify.

 

“Yes.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story feels like it's dragging, but the last chapter was Sansa's turning point and now, things will start to move forward. The long-awaited Jon/Sansa conversation will be in the next chapter. I feel like I'm getting such a mixed reception. Most seem to completely love this story and then some seem to really dislike it, but they keep reading. I just want to say thank you to everyone who reads and leaves me comments. There aren't enough times I can thank you. I'm still new to this fandom and your reception of this story has just blown me away.


	16. Sixteen

…

 

**Sixteen.**

_Please don’t ring the bell. Brandon is napping._

_I won’t. Do you mind if I bring Ghost?_

_Not at all. I’m sure Lady will enjoy the company._

_Thank you. We both will be there soon._

After reading his last text, Sansa isn’t sure why, but she suddenly feels like she should straighten up a bit. It’s just Jon and he’s just coming over to watch a television show – and maybe, if it’s late enough, he’ll stay for dinner – so it shouldn’t matter what her home, or she, looks like. It won’t be his first time here and it won’t be his first time seeing her in her pajamas.

 

The thought makes her cheeks flame, but she quickly shakes her head, doing her best to squash those thoughts. She’s wearing her navy blue fleece set of pajamas with white snowflakes printed on them. There is absolutely nothing sexy about what she is wearing and she’s going to keep it that way. And it isn’t as if she wants to look sexy for Jon. That’s the last thing she wants and she won’t even entertain the idea of changing into _anything_ different before he gets here.

 

At least she’s not wearing his grey sweater without her even realizing it.

 

She pulls out the appropriate _Project Runway_ DVD from the season eight case and slips it into the DVD player, bringing the main menu on and then muting the television. After that is set up, Sansa goes into Brandon’s room to check up on him. She has never thought this before, but she hopes Brandon naps for a bit. If Jon comes over and they actually talk like she is both hoping and planning, Brandon waking up will interrupt that.

 

Does that make her a horrible mom? Sansa doesn’t want to dwell on it.

 

She reaches a hand down into the crib and runs a light, soothing hand over his head. His skin almost feels completely normal to her now and she sends a swift, silent prayer to the Gods in thanks. Hopefully, after soup to warm his insides and a good night’s sleep and another day in his pajamas, he’ll be completely good as new by Monday when they have to return to the world outside.

 

She watches Brandon for another moment, a faint smile on her face.

 

Before her son, Sansa had never thought that she would smile just from watching someone sleep. There had been a few times with Jon… he would mumble something in his sleep and Sansa would be watching him, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but that was with Jon and after him, there were so many things she just thought she wouldn’t have in her life again.

 

For his third birthday in a couple more weeks, Ned and Cat have already spoken to her about it. It is time for Brandon to leave the crib and get his first bed. As his grandparents, they want to buy that for him. Sansa is touched at the offer and has accepted even though deep down, she doesn’t want her baby boy to ever grow out of his crib. That just means that he is growing up and it’s going by too quickly.

 

The knock on the front door comes softly, but Sansa hears it nonetheless, having been waiting for it.

 

She leaves Brandon’s room, leaving the door open – just in case he does wake and does need her – and she catches her reflection in the mirror she has hanging on the wall in the hallway. After pancakes, she was able to brush her teeth, scrub her face, roll on deodorant and brush out her hair, but she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. She doesn’t need to during a pajama weekend and not because Jon is here.

 

Shaking her head at herself, she goes to the front door, where Lady is dancing excitedly, and Sansa peeks through the peephole first, just to make sure. She then takes a deep breath before unlocking the three locks and pulling open the door. Jon stands on the porch with his Alaskan malamute, Ghost, at his side.

 

Jon looks as nervous as she feels and somehow, seeing that, it makes the knot in her stomach loosen. Just a bit. But enough for her to give him the smallest smile and step back, pulling the door open wider. She clicks the lock on the screen door and Jon enters, Ghost trotting in comfortably, acting at home already.

 

“Hi,” Jon speaks first and Sansa is grateful for that.

 

She may have been the one to invite him over for _Project Runway_ and to talk, but now that he’s actually here, Sansa doesn’t quite know where to go from her. Starting with “hi” seems simple enough.

 

“Hi,” she returns with the same small smile and Jon’s lips twitch upwards in return. “Here, let me have your coat,” she offers and closes the door again – making sure that it’s locked – as Jon steps aside to start peeling his outer layer off.

 

She notices that he’s holding a brown paper bag in his hand, something slim inside that she can’t see, and he sets it down carefully on the couch so he can take his coat off. He hands it to her and after a second, debating where to put it, she decides to hang it up in the small front closet. The knot in her stomach might have loosened, but it’s fluttering now – home to a million moth wings from the feel of it – as she hangs Jon’s coat up and can smell the pine and snow scents waft into her nose.

 

She takes a deep – soft – breath and turns to him again. She’s glad she took that breath because looking at him, standing in her living room, she feels as if suddenly, she has forgotten how to breathe all together.

 

Jon is wearing black jeans and a black sweater and his hair is pulled back into his man-bun.

 

Sansa feels her eyes widen slightly. “Is that…” she stops herself before she can finish her question because surely, it’s just a black sweater, but then she sees the slight uneven – familiarly uneven – collar line. She looks at him with a furrowed brow. “Jon, why do you still have that?” She asks.

 

Jon looks down to the sweater and flattens his hand down his chest. “I would never get rid of it,” he says and his response is quiet, but Sansa hears him perfectly nonetheless.

 

It’s the first thing she had ever attempted at making with needles and yarn when she was sixteen. Give her a yard of fabric and sewing machine, and she can make magic, and she can sew just as well with a needle and thread, but knitting needles is something completely different and she decided she would make Jon a sweater so she could practice. It turned out terrible, of course, with a crooked collar and one sleeve longer than the other, but when Sansa had given it to him as a Christmas present, he had instantly put it on and gave her a hug, thanking her as if it was the best thing he had ever received.

 

Sansa thinks that she fell a little in love with her brother’s best friend for the first time that morning.

 

“I…” he lifts his eyes back to her. “I didn’t think to change when you called.”

 

“It’s, it’s okay,” Sansa manages to say. “It just caught me off guard for a moment,” she admits honestly. “I think Lady and Ghost will like being outside for a bit. And I was going to make hot chocolate. Would you like some?” She asks.

 

“That would be great,” Jon gives a slight nod of his head. “And I was hoping to take a look at the sunroom’s progress.”

 

Sansa gives him a little smile and her own nod and he follows her into the kitchen. She opens the door for Ghost and Lady to run outside, happily leaping into the snow and wrestling around with one another, and she smiles, before closing the door and looking at Jon. He has unlocked the patio door and has stepped out into the newly built room. There is still some work to be done, but it’s close to being finished and Sansa is already imagining where she’ll put everything once the town inspector gives it his approval.

 

She crosses her arms as the cold seeps into the kitchen and she comes to stand behind Jon. “Val’s almost done with the electrical work and Tormund says he’ll have the windows installed by this Wednesday.”

 

Jon nods and doesn’t say anything at first and she knows that he’s inspecting his employees’ work. He then turns to look at her.

 

“Do you like it?” He asks.

 

Sansa doesn’t hesitate in nodding. “It’s beautiful,” she answers.

 

Wooden walls and a wooden floor and windows on all three sides for the sun to pour in and warm her. It’s not too big – where it takes up the whole backyard and seems out of place with her little house – and it’s not too small, giving her enough room for her sewing machine and her mannequin and she will have room to set up a drafting table as well once everything else is complete.

 

“I haven’t taken a dime for it,” Jon then tells her and it’s not at all what she’s been expecting him to say.

 

Sansa actually isn’t too sure what she has been expecting him to say.

 

“Your parents have tried to pay me for it, but… I wanted to build this for you,” he says and the moths are flying everywhere inside of her now – not just in her stomach.

 

“You should take the money,” Sansa finally is able to speak. “For the materials and labor, you shouldn’t set yourself back just for this.”

 

Jon just shakes his head.

 

Sansa goes to the refrigerator and takes the carton of milk, pouring some out into a saucepan and then putting it onto the stove to heat. She always makes her hot chocolate with hot milk rather than water. Hot chocolate is just one of those things that she takes seriously.

 

Jon steps back into the kitchen and closes the patio door behind him. “I have something for you. Do you… is it alright if I take my boots off? I don’t feel that comfortable walking around your house, wearing them.”

 

“Alright,” Sansa permits and as she stands at the stove, she can hear Jon back in the living room on the other side of the wall that the stove faces.

 

She should have told him to take off his boots when he gave her his coat. She just didn’t know if that was too casual or not. Maybe, this conversation won’t last that long. Maybe they will say what they have to say, they will watch the episode and then he will leave and that would be that. Maybe asking him to take off his boots would make _him_ too uncomfortable and if he’s uncomfortable, he won’t talk and if he doesn’t talk, then what is he even doing here. But if he does take off his boots, does that mean that he isn’t planning on leaving so soon? And what if-

 

_Oh for God’s sake, Sansa! They’re just boots!_

 

She lifts her head when she sees Jon appearing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room again and she notes that he’s wearing green socks on his feet. She almost smiles at that.

 

“I, um,” he clears his throat. “I found this a while ago. I was in a used bookstore, just looking around and I saw this, and naturally, I thought of you. I just didn’t know when to give it to you or if you would even take it. I hope you take it now, but if you don’t want it, that’s okay, too.”

 

He’s rambling and Sansa turns away from watching the milk on the stove to take the slim paper bag he is offering for her to take. The instant she takes it, she knows it’s a record and when she carefully pulls it from the bag and she looks at the front sleeve, she gasps.

 

It’s _Rubber Soul_. Her eyes stare down at it and then they fly up to look at Jon as he carefully studies her.

 

“I know,” he pauses and swallows before clearing his throat. “I know when you left Ramsay, you had to leave a lot of things behind.”

 

Sansa has been so busy over the past four years, keeping her head above water, she hasn’t allowed herself to dwell on the things she left behind after taking the pregnancy test and fleeing afterwards, stopping only long enough to shove some things into a bag. She knows to most, they’re just records, but when she left, she had to leave all of her Beatles records behind and she has not let herself think about it because it hurts too much. She has told herself it doesn’t matter. She has all of their music on CD anyway.

 

But it _did_ matter. It still does.

 

To people who don’t love music, they won’t understand, but to Sansa, growing up, The Beatles had meant everything to her. Listening to their music had gotten her through so much. When she was pregnant with Brandon, she would sing him _Blackbird_ , knowing that he could hear her from the inside. She doesn’t even want to imagine what Ramsay had done to her precious records when he found that she had gone.

 

“How did you know?” She asks and her voice is in a whisper.

 

“I’m quiet,” Jon answers as if she doesn’t already know. “Your family talks to each other and I listen.”

 

Sansa stares back down to the familiar album and tears begin to sting her eyes.

 

She knows Brandon is asleep, but she has to listen to it. Right then and there. She has the CD, but she has to listen to the record. She has to hear the distinct sound of the needle on the vinyl.

 

She moves past Jon and goes into the living room, going to her record player that she has set up even though she has no records anymore. She always means to go and buy some, but searching the second hand bookstores and garage sales had taken her so much time the first time around when she was building her collection and she hadn’t had the time to do so this second time around.

 

She turns the record over onto the “B” side and locates the groove of the song she wants to hear. She makes sure the volume is turned down low – but now low enough where she can’t hear – and she holds her breath as she gently places the needle down on the turning disc. Her heart constricts when she hears that slight static and then John Lennon’s voice sing.

 

_Is there anybody going to listen to my story,_

_All about the girl who came to stay?_

_She’s the kind of girl you want so much,_

_It makes you sorry._

_Still you don’t regret a single day._

Sansa sniffles and wipes at the tears that are streaming down her cheeks and she then turns back to Jon, who is standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, watching her.

 

Without a word, Sansa walks right up to him, puts her arms around his shoulders and hugs him.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers and Jon’s own arms are around her waist.

 

“You’re welcome,” he whispers back and he squeezes his arms around her and Sansa feels more tears leaking from her eyes.

 

She has lost so much, but not everything.

 

She has Brandon and this house and now, she has _Rubber Soul_ now, too.

 

She’s still hugging him and crying. “Why did you let me leave?” She asks, her voice shaking. “Why did you let me go? I wanted to be with you. I loved you. I loved you so much, Jon, and I didn’t want to leave.”

 

Her voice is shaking and she’s crying harder and she doesn’t even know if he can understand her through her tears, but she’s still hugging him, and Jon holds her close, his arms strong and tight, and he’s not letting her go even if she wants him to.

 

Jon turns his head and buries his face to the side of her throat and his facial hair tickles her skin and she swears that she can feel moisture; as if he’s crying, too.

 

“I was twenty and stupid and was so sure that you could do better than me,” he answers.

 

Sansa forces herself to pull her head back, but leave her arms around him, and Jon lifts his head so they could look to one another’s faces. She wasn’t imagining it. Jon’s eyes are wet, too, though he’s definitely not crying as much as she is right now.

 

“You were the only one I ever wanted. Did I do something? Why didn’t you know that?” She continued to ask, all of the questions she had ever had for him falling from her mouth without stopping or control.

 

“Gods, no, Sansa. You didn’t do anything,” Jon fiercely shakes his head at that. “You didn’t do a damn thing except love me and show me how much you loved me. It was all me. I was with you and I just kept waiting for you to come to me and tell me that you were moving on. I convinced myself that that was what you were going to do and we only had a short time together.”

 

Sansa finally moves her arms from around his shoulders and she wipes at her cheeks. Jon’s own arms loosen, but they still remain wrapped around her waist. Sansa looks to his face and shakes her head.

 

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” She whispers.

 

“Because I told myself that I already knew what you were going to say. I assumed everything and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever done. You deserved more than that. You still do.”

 

“Stop it!” Sansa exclaims before she can stop herself. “You’re assuming again. Right now! You’re assuming you know what I do or do not deserve.”

 

Jon visibly swallows. “You deserve everything in the world, Sansa. There’s nothing wrong in thinking that.”

 

“I don’t want the whole world,” Sansa shakes her head and she’s whispering again as a fresh batch of tears begin slowly streaming down her cheeks.

 

 _I want you_. That goes unsaid though. She’s not ready to say those words out loud. Not yet.

 

“And why didn’t you want to tell my family about us?” Sansa asks.

 

Jon’s arms drop away from her now and he looks away, as if ashamed.

 

“My mom worked so much of the time and she was hardly home and your family, they took me in, and they made me a part of everything, but most of the time, I still felt like an outsider. And then, I started sleeping with their prized daughter… if they found out, everyone would have hated me. They would have… they would have pulled you away and ask what the hell you were doing with me and you would have woken up.”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to refute that, but Jon continues before she can.

 

“I told you. I was twenty and stupid and I was scared out of my mind because being with you, it was the best thing to _ever_ happen to me. It still is. And I knew it wasn’t going to last because things that good – like what you and me had – they just don’t last.

 

“And I know they’re shitty answers, Sansa. Believe me. I know. I’ve thought of nothing else over the past few years except how I could have changed everything… But… they’re all I have because it’s the truth.”

 

Sansa wipes at her cheeks again and suddenly remembers the milk on the stove.

 

She moves past him into the kitchen and takes the boiling milk from the stove. She moves it onto one of the other burners and pulls down two heavy ceramic mugs and the container of cocoa from the cabinet.

 

She dumps the powder into each mug and then pours the milk in, separating it evenly between the two mugs, and as she stirs, she stares down as if mesmerized with her actions.

 

“Did you really start drinking because of me?” She asks.

 

“Yes,” Jon answers without hesitating.

 

“Did you get sober because you found out I was home?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How much do you know about my relationship with Ramsay?”

 

“I know your parents told Robb everything and he told me just enough. I don’t know everything.”

 

Sansa finds herself being relieved at that. _If_ Jon ever knows everything about what happened to her and what she went through, she wants to be the one to tell him.

 

“Why didn’t you or my family tell me that you already told them about us?”

 

She turns and hands him one of the mugs and he takes it, but doesn’t take a sip. Sansa takes her and holds it between both hands, but also doesn’t take a sip. She stands, facing Jon, and he stands, facing her. She wonders if she should suggest they sit down, but she wants to hear his answers first before they sit down and get comfortable.

 

“Because for the past four years, you have been dealing with so much shit. You still are. And you’ll hate this answer, but we were all just trying to keep it from you because we thought it was for the best.”

 

“You’re right,” Sansa comments and then takes a sip of hot chocolate after blowing on it. “I hate that answer. It’s not yours or my family’s decision about what’s best for me. I understand just wanting to help, but taking control of my life…” she trails off.

 

“I know,” Jon replies quietly. “I know and I’m sorry. We all are.”

 

“Did you tell them everything about us?”

 

Jon nods. “Robb and Arya were so mad at how I treated you, they didn’t talk to me for a month.”

 

Sansa feels pleased with that answer, but she keeps it to herself. She takes another sip of hot chocolate and Jon waits, looking at her, waiting for her next question, but then takes his own small sip of his.  

 

She opens her mouth to ask something else, but then decides against it and her lips close again.

 

“What?” Jon presses her gently and takes a small step closer to her.

 

She shakes her head. “I’m just thinking… Arya saying that you were dating Val and then Robb bringing Dickon around…”

 

“Trying to get one of us off our asses to start doing something,” Jon answers.

  
That answer makes her frown though she had already figured it out for herself. “Making decisions for me again. Not caring if I want to be back with you again or not,” she says more to herself than to him.

 

“What do you want, Sansa?” Jon asks.

 

She blinks at him as if she doesn’t understand that question. She’s still not used to people asking her that. Dr. Tarth had asked her that question and she said she doesn’t know, but she does. She knows that she has known the answer for a while now.

 

She just can’t say it. Not yet.

 

“I’m sorry, too,” she says. “I want you to know that.”

 

Jon’s eyes widen. “Why the hell are _you_ sorry?”

 

“For just not coming out and telling you that I wanted to marry you.”

 

“We were kids. I probably wouldn’t have believed you,” Jon admits.

 

“I’m sorry for not making you believe me then,” Sansa amends.

 

“I don’t accept,” Jon shakes his head.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says again and reaches out, pushing him gently in the chest with her free hand not holding her mug. “Accept it.”

 

He is trying to keep from smiling, but she can tell he’s failing miserably and she pushes him again, feeling like laughing as that small smile of his moving over his lips.

 

“No,” he says. “I don’t and I won’t accept it. There’s nothing you should be sorry for.”

 

Sansa pushes him again, still gently, and Jon takes her hand gently in his.

 

“What do you really want, Sansa?” He asks, his eyes staring deeply into hers.

 

 _I want you to hold me again and kiss me again and I want you to stay for dinner_.

 

“I want to watch _Project Runway_ with you,” Sansa says instead and in that moment, it’s the absolute truth.

 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jon says and not pulling her hand from his, Sansa turns and leads him back into the living room.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, writing this chapter absolutely terrified me. I'm not sure how long this story will be, but I still have plenty I need/want to write. Thank you to all those reading and leaving me comments. They're the best comments in the world!


	17. Seventeen

…

 

**Seventeen.**

“That’s beautiful.”

 

For a moment, Sansa thinks he’s talking about one of the looks a designer is presenting on the runway, but looking at him, she sees that Jon isn’t looking at the television at all. Instead, he is looking at the half-finished dress she has on her dress form – a champagne colored dress with a grayish-lace overlay.

 

“Oh. Thank you,” Sansa smiles faintly with a blush warming her cheeks. “It’s for an event at the University I have to attend in a couple of months. It’s actually because of the work you’ve done on the library. Mr. Seaworth is hosting an evening for donors and alumni to come and see the newly finished renovations.”

 

“He already talked to me about it, too,” Jon reveals and Sansa can’t help, but be surprised over that. And her face must show that because Jon shrugs. “Not only am I an alumni of Winterfell, but I’m also the one who did the renovations. He was real nice about it, but I got the impression that I didn’t really have an option as to whether I would be attending or not.”

 

Sansa can’t help, but laugh at that. “Mr. Seaworth is notorious for that. He’s like everyone’s father and sweeps you in with his kindness and praise and before you know it, you’re agreeing to pretty much anything because you can’t imagine disappointing him.”

 

“He did have something of a fatherly tone to his voice when he _demanded_ I attend,” Jon comments and Sansa laughs again and she notices that as she does so, Jon looks at her and smiles.

 

They are sitting on the sofa together, space still between them, but Sansa notes that that space seems to be closing after every few minutes and she’s not even entirely sure who’s the one who’s doing the closing.

 

“Did he also tell you that it’s black tie?” Sansa wonders.

 

The last time she had seen Jon wearing a tux had been two years earlier at one of Catelyn’s events. Catelyn has stayed at home with all of her children, but she has always kept herself busy – as if having five children never occupied enough of her time – with various charities and fundraising events. The one for the Wintertown Symphony is always one of the more lavish ones and Catelyn has never come right out and said it – except to Ned – but she always expects everyone in her family to attend.

 

Sansa remembers the way she had spent the evening, looking after Brandon – Catelyn having bought even her infant grandson a baby tuxedo that he’d outgrow within days – and trying not to stare at Jon as he walked the room in the black tuxedo that looked as if it had been made specifically for him.

 

Sansa also remembers how she wasn’t the only female in the room to notice him that evening. Some men, as well. Sansa had flamed with embarrassment that _she_ would be looking at him. Even if they hadn’t had the past that they did, she was the only woman in attendance with a baby in her arms.

 

Jon could have had his pick of any one in the ballroom that night and why would any man ever choose the single one with the baby?

 

Jon still can have his pick of any woman.

 

But he’s here – sitting on her sofa, with her, and watching _Project Runway_.

 

Jon grumbles something under his breath and Sansa can’t hear what he says, but she laughs anyway.

 

He looks at her, a small smile quirking his lips. “I’ve missed that,” he confesses softly and Sansa knows what he’s talking about and her cheeks blush further.

 

She’s well aware that she’s the one to inch closer to him this time. “I can’t wait to see you in a tux again,” she takes her turn to confess something since he has done the same to her.

 

“Again?” One of his eyebrows lift at that.

 

Sansa regrets having said anything at all, but she’s already said it and there’s no taking it back now; not with how Jon is staring at her. She has never understood how he can make his eyes so dark like that.

 

“A couple of years ago, at this event my mom was helping host for the Wintertown Symphony-”

 

“You were wearing a green dress that looked like melted emeralds,” Jon finishes for her.

 

Sansa blinks at him, his words taking an extra-long moment to register in her mind, and it seems as if it’s Jon’s turn to blush. He doesn’t look away from her though.

 

“You remember what I was wearing that night?” Sansa is finally able to ask, nearly whispering the question; her heart pounding so loudly in her ears, she can hardly hear her own voice.

 

Jon gives a nod and looks down to his hands before back to her again. “I felt like such a creep, stealing glances at you all night, but I… Christ, I can still remember how beautiful you looked that night, Sansa.”

 

“You always liked me in green,” Sansa muses, more to herself than to him.

 

“It’s because of your hair,” he adds.

 

Sansa gives him a look that makes him smile. “Red and green are Christmas, Jon,” she retorts and it’s something that she has said to him more than once in the past, and just like those other times, Jon breaks into a grin; an actual grin with his teeth showing and the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

 

She used to always feel like she had accomplished something truly amazing whenever she made him grin.

 

She’s not surprised to discover that she still feels that way.

 

They each are quiet as they stare at one another and as Sansa stares into his eyes, seeing the flecks of grey mixed in with his dark brown – Jon’s always had the most fascinating eyes in her opinion – Jon stares into her own eyes. They have been close to one another like this in recent memory – like when he kissed her at Rickon’s cross-country meet – but this feels different. This _is_ different.

 

Everything from this moment on will be different because she has asked him questions and he has answered and Sansa knows now. Deep down, she supposes that she’s always expected that those were his reasons for everything concerning their relationship – Jon’s self-esteem is about as high as hers – and maybe, she had been waiting and thinking that there was something more earth-shattering.

 

But he had been twenty and scared and stupid and if only they could both go back in time and fix things.

 

They can’t, of course, but they have this. They have this moment and Sansa hopes there will be other moments after this one. Maybe, many moments from now, she’ll be able to tell him that she loves him. He knows that she _loved_ him, but does he know that she still does? She wants to tell him, but she can’t bring herself to. Not yet. Too much has already been said today and honestly, she’s feeling a bit drained.

 

She is still looking at Jon – into his eyes – and from the corner of her own, she sees his hand lifting and coming towards her face.

 

She flinches.

 

She doesn’t mean to. The second after, she wishes she can take it back. It’s just such a natural reaction now – even after all of this time. She sees a hand near her face and she braces herself for the hit.

 

Jon’s hand freezes and she sees the way his eyes widen; as if he’s been the one who’s been struck and he’s both stunned and horrified.

 

“I’m sorry, Sansa.” His hand is yanked away. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry,” he says again and his words sound desperate; as if he’s desperate for her to believe him. “I was just going to… I wasn’t thinking.”

 

Sansa shakes her head as she feels tears sting her eyes and she focuses on inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. “It’s okay, Jon,” she says, turning on the sofa more towards him. She takes his hands in her own.

 

“It’s really not, Sansa,” he shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have…”

 

Sansa doesn’t let him finish. Taking his hand, she guides it up to her face. His hand is warm and rough – just as how it always is – and she breathes a little easier as she rests his hand to her cheek. Jon stares at her and doesn’t say anything; doesn’t move; doesn’t breathe. He just keeps looking at her and Sansa doesn’t move her eyes from his either.

 

Slowly, Sansa lets her own hand fall away and she feels an immense wave of relief when Jon’s hand remains on her cheek.

 

“I was just going to tuck your hair behind your ear,” he tells her quietly and she can hear a slight pleading in his voice; as if he’s begging her to believe him.

 

“Alright,” Sansa says, matching his quiet tone with her own.

 

Jon stares at her for a moment and Sansa manages to give him a small smile; hoping that it’s encouraging. Her heartbeat has returned to normal, but when she feels Jon move his fingers, it begins to race within her chest once more. She nearly closes her eyes at his soft caress as he tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and his fingers then linger. His touch is so gentle, it makes her ach, and she finds herself leaning in closer to him.

 

She wants to kiss him. She knows the ball is on the sidelines, and she doesn’t know if this will move it or not. She’s not even sure if she wants the ball to move into either court right now, but right now, Sansa knows that she wants to kiss Jon.

 

She stares into his eyes and slowly lifts one of her hands to his chest. She can feel his warmth from beneath his sweater and she swears that she can feel his heart – it racing in a pace to match her own.

 

“I want to take you out,” Jon says rather suddenly.

 

Sansa’s eyes widen. “What?” She almost laughs because she hasn’t been expecting him to say that; at all.

 

“Yeah,” he gives a nod. “I want you to get Brandon a babysitter. I want to pick you up at your front door – all right and proper – and I want to take you to your favorite restaurant and then, I want to spend the night, getting to know you.”

 

A slow smile spreads across Sansa’s face. “Really?” She asks as if she can’t quite believe and she supposes that she really can’t. Even after everything that has been exposed and talked about today, she just has never expected Jon to ask her out on a date.

 

“Really,” Jon gives her his own small, easy smile. “Sansa Stark, will you go out on a date with me?”

 

“Yes,” she laughs this time and she feels a warmth pass over her that has nothing to do with the warm air blowing from the vents as the heater kicks on.

 

Jon laughs, too, and it would be so easy for her to lean in right now and kiss him. Just lean forward and have her lips meet his and it would be her turn to catch him off guard, but now, she wants to wait. Jon is taking her out on a date and she suddenly imagines kissing him on her front steps at the end of the date.

 

“Mama!” Brandon – now awake apparently – calls out then. “I go pee!”

 

“Coming!” Sansa calls back and with one more smile to Jon, she pulls herself up from the sofa. She begins heading for Brandon’s room, but then stops herself and turns back to Jon. “We’re having chicken noodle soup for dinner. Would you and Ghost like to stay?” She asks.

 

“We would love to,” he answers immediately and Sansa gives him a small smile and when she goes into Brandon’s room to get him from his crib, she is still smiling.

 

…

 

“So, they all run a hotel in the jungle?” Jon asks Brandon and Sansa smiles as she carefully sips another spoonful of soup into her mouth. She knows that Jon is quite aware of the plot to _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ , but Brandon is always excited to talk about his favorite cartoon and Jon knows that.

 

It makes Sansa warm from the inside out to know that Jon knows that and the warmth has nothing to do with the soup.

 

“Yep!” Brandon exclaims excitedly.

 

They had eaten their first bowls of soup at the kitchen table, but now, Jon and Sansa are having their second bowls and both are sitting on the sofa as Brandon sits on the carpet in front of the television, Moe, his stuffed wolf in his lap, and Lady on one side and Ghost on his other.

 

Sansa is sitting back into the cushions behind her, her legs tucked up to her chest, and Jon, beside her, is sitting forward, the bowl in one hand and his eyes on the cartoon in front of him.

 

“That’s Zoe, Chloe, Vic and Mick!” Brandon explains and points to each of the four animated grey hippos.

 

“And Vic is your favorite, right?” Jon asks.

 

“Yep!” Brandon then turns to look at Sansa. “What’s he, mama?”

 

“Cranky,” she answers with a smile.

 

Brandon then looks to Jon. “Vic’s cranky.”

 

Jon gives him a grin at that and Brandon grins, too, turning back to the television.

 

Sansa takes another careful sip of soup and Jon turns his head back to look at her. He smiles at her and she smiles in return. She wonders if he feels warm inside, too. This whole thing – sitting with him and Brandon and their dogs – watching Brandon’s cartoon with him, eating chicken noodle soup – she feels warm. She feels home. She feels _happy_.

 

And the realization that she feels that way makes her eyes grow wet and shiny. Jon instantly notices and he leans back next to her, a concerned frown on his face.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks her quietly so Brandon can’t overhear; not that Brandon is paying attention to anything except _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ at the moment.

 

Sansa nods and gives him a watery smile. “I’m just…” she pauses and wonders if she should tell him how she’s feeling, but then she wonders why she _shouldn’t_ tell him. “I’m happy,” she then says and she hears the own amazement in her tone as if she can’t quite believe it herself.

 

Jon looks at her for a moment – as if studying her to make sure she really means that – and then he gives her a little smile and a nod of his head. “Me, too.”

 

He reaches a hand out and gives her knee the gentlest of squeezes. “Is that okay?” He asks.

 

“That I’m happy?” She asks, teasing.

 

Jon just smiles a little and lowers his eyes away from her, shy. Sansa covers his hand, still on her knee, with her own and Jon lifts his eyes once more to hers.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispers and after a moment, Jon gives it another gentle squeeze.

 

The doorbell suddenly ringing out makes them all jump and Lady and Ghost immediately begin barking.

 

Sansa’s eyes fly to the clock on the wall and sees that it’s just a little bit after five. Who would be coming to see her at such a time on a Saturday? She hopes it’s not her mom and dad. She told Cat that morning that she and Brandon were just wanting to have a pajama weekend and she thought Cat had understood that. But Cat being Cat, she probably came anyway.

 

Sansa sighs and leaning forward, she slides soup bowl onto the coffee table.

 

But then she freezes. What if it isn’t her parents at all? What if it’s someone else? What if… what if it’s _him_? He wouldn’t ring the doorbell, would he? Or maybe he’s ringing the doorbell to distract her before breaking in through the back. Is the back door locked? Did she lock it after letting Ghost and Lady in from the backyard?

 

“Sansa?” She hears Jon ask from beside her, putting his own bowl on the coffee table and then resting a hand on her shoulder. “Sansa,” his voice is soft and gentle and Sansa begins to breathe quickly faster and faster.

 

Sansa turns her head to look at him and it’s the first time she’s aware that she’s crying. “Is it Ramsay?” She whispers. “Has he… what if he’s found me?”

 

Jon stares at her and she can see a flash of something across his eyes. Anger? She’s not sure, but she sees the twitch in his jaw from clenching his teeth together. He lifts a hand slowly to her face – she doesn’t flinch this time – as his thumb wipes at the tear rolling down her cheek.

 

“It’s not Ramsay, Sansa,” he says. “I promise.”

 

And he sounds so sure, Sansa wants to believe him, but the doorbell rings out again, Lady and Ghost are barking louder now and Sansa shoots off the sofa as if being fired from a canon.

 

“Brandon, stay here,” she orders him as she hurries into the kitchen.

 

“Sansa,” Jon is following her and she practically throws herself against the back door, testing the handle as she makes sure the deadbolt is turned.

 

Locked.

 

She then goes to the patio doors and tests those as well, seeing that they’re locked, too.

 

Her heart is still hammering though and she turns around to see Jon standing there, watching her, an expression on his face that she can’t decipher. He seems angry, but he seems something else, too; something that Sansa can’t quite place.

 

Maybe tomorrow, she’ll be embarrassed when she thinks of how she’s acting right now; showing Jon how messed up in the head she is. But right now, she’s just trying to remember how to breathe.

 

“Mama! It’s Uncle Robb!” Brandon exclaims from the living room.

 

Sansa gasps when she hears Brandon’s words.

 

Did he open the door? The alarm is set! Why didn’t the alarm go off?!

 

She hurries past Jon without another look and not saying anything to him and Brandon is standing on his toes, looking out the slim window that is next to the front door. He is giggling and through the distorted glass, Sansa can see someone there – maybe it is Robb – and he’s making faces at Brandon.

 

Sansa scoops Brandon up in her arms, holding him tight, and she wipes at her cheeks as she looks through the peephole. It _is_ Robb.

 

Taking a series of deep breaths, trying to keep her heart from pounding right from her chest, she hits the keypad on the wall next to the door, disarming the alarm so she can open the door without it going off.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says again and she turns towards him. “I’ll take him.”

 

Without waiting for her to say anything either way, Jon is lifting Brandon from her arms into his. She exhales a shaky breath and wipes at her cheeks again before turning the locks and opening the door.

 

“We’ve brought pork chops!” Robb exclaims the instant the door is open and he holds up a plastic container in his hands. He then looks past Sansa’s shoulder and his smile manages to grow wider when he sees Jon standing behind her with Brandon in his arms. “Hey, Jon. What are you doing here?”

 

“We’re eating soup!” Brandon answers his uncle’s question happily before Jon can say anything.

 

“Is that so?” Robb smiles and Sansa might seem occupied, but she doesn’t miss the look he gives Jon.

 

“ _Why_ did you bring pork chops, Robb?” She asks, her heart _finally_ returning to a normal beat.

 

Robb moves his eyes to her, that same smile on his face, and Sansa narrows her eyes at him. “Mom asked me, too. She said that you and Brandon were having soup tonight, but nothing for dinner tomorrow.”

 

Sansa frowns. “I didn’t tell her we didn’t have anything for dinner tomorrow.”

 

Robb shrugs. “You know how mom is. Can I come in?” He then asks. “It’s freezing out here.”

 

Sansa is sorely tempted to close the door in her brother’s face, but she can’t do that. She knows she’ll never do that.

 

Instead, she steps back and opens the door wider, and Robb strides in.

 

“I’ll put these in the refrigerator,” Robb says. “Mom also made her cheesy potatoes tonight and has sent me with the leftovers of those, too.”

 

As Robb shows himself to the kitchen and Jon puts Brandon down on his feet so Brandon can scamper after him, Sansa closes and locks the front door again and she faces it for a moment, her eyes closed, trying to keep herself calm and collected. It’s just Robb. Not Ramsay. Ramsay isn’t here and he has no idea where she is even if he _is_ somewhere.

 

She doesn’t jump or flinch when Jon’s hand rests on her shoulder and she wonders if it’s because she was wanting him to touch her.

 

Without a word, she turns to face him. Jon is silent, staring at her closely and he then opens his mouth to say something, but right then, Sansa doesn’t want him to say a word.

 

She steps to him and her arms slip around his waist and his arms are instantly around her shoulders, holding her close, his lips resting to her head, and she closes her eyes, feeling his warmth through his sweater and smelling pine and snow and _Jon_ and with him here – a part of her still not truly believing that he’s actually here – she not only feels happy, but she feels safe, too.

 

It’s scary how safe she feels with Jon.

 

She doesn’t even want to think about how long it can possibly last.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always hate when I get behind on responding to comments, but please know that I read every single one and the response and love you continue to show this story just keeps blowing me away. PS - Hubba Bubba Hotel is completely made up. And yes, Sansa will find out eventually what happened to Ramsay.


	18. Eighteen

…

 

**Eighteen.**

Sansa is tapping away on her computer, checking books out for a student on the other side of the desk, and once she’s finished, she wishes him, with a smile, to have a good day. With her eyes still raised, she can see her mom come through the front doors of the library and her smile slightly drops when she sees that Rickon is with her.

 

“Hello, dear,” Catelyn smiles as she approaches the desk and then leans over, kissing Sansa’s cheek.

 

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asks, looking to her youngest brother.

 

“Someone called in a bomb threat and school was cancelled for the day. Mom promised me lunch,” Rickon explains simply with a shrug, his hands in his coat pockets.

 

“That’s… great?” Sansa says unsurely and Rickon just smiles. She then looks back to her mom. “I have a few more minutes until I can take my lunch break.”

 

“You take your time, dear,” Cat smiles. “Would it be possible to go onto the daycare to see Brandon?”

 

“Of course,” Sansa nods with a smile. “Shae knows you. I’ll just call over there so she can expect you.”

 

“And have you thought of what you wanted for lunch?” Cat asks as Sansa picks up the phone.

 

“Whatever you and Rickon want,” Sansa says before putting her concentration on the ringing phone on the other end. She speaks with Shae for a moment and then glancing to Cat and Rickon, Sansa turns her back to them as if that will offer her a bit of privacy. “How is he feeling?” She asks almost in a whisper.

 

She still has no intention on telling her mom that Brandon had been feeling less than stellar the last couple of days. It’s not as if she likes hiding things from her mom. She just knows how Cat will react. She will immediately fly into ridiculously over-bearing mom mode and she will demand Sansa tell her everything – all of Brandon’s symptoms and account for every second of every minute of how he has spent this weekend – and she’ll want to take him to the doctor and Sansa knows she won’t mean to, but she knows that Cat will ignore her when she assures that Brandon doesn’t need to go to the doctor.

 

The pajama weekend and chicken noodle soup have seemed to help immensely. Doing nothing except playing with his toys as Sansa worked on her dress as they watched both _Project Runway_ and _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ and going nowhere and having no plans, it had helped _her_ and she hadn’t even been the one who wasn’t feeling well.

 

This morning, getting Brandon dressed and ready for the day, Sansa had asked him again and again how he was feeling and he kept chirping “Good!” and she believed him. She can only pray that he still feels that way or her lunch with her mother will be anything, but a relaxing hour.

 

She loves her mom – of course she does – and she owes her mom everything, but sometimes, and Sansa knows that that’s never Catelyn’s intent, but sometimes, Cat makes Sansa feel completely inept when it comes to being a mother to her own son.

 

“He’s good,” Shae assures her. “He took his morning nap and now he’s up and I’ve put on one of the _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ DVDs for the kids so you can imagine where he is right now.”

 

Sansa smiles, able to perfectly picture her son sitting on the carpet in front of the television, watching with rapt attention even though he has seen every episode at least twice.

 

“My mom and brother are on campus and they were hoping to come by and see him. I have a few more minutes until my lunch break so is it alright if they get there ahead of me?” Sansa asks.

 

“Of course!”

 

Sansa thanks Shae and hangs up, turning back towards her mom and brother. “He’ll be watching _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ , so good luck getting him to notice you,” Sansa smiles, only half-joking.

 

Cat shakes her head. “I know he loves that show, but I don’t know why you let him watch it all of the time.”

 

Sansa’s brow furrows at that. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s a cartoon intended for children his age,” she says, thinking that maybe Cat finds it inappropriate in some way.

 

“It just doesn’t _teach_ him anything,” Cat responds.

 

“Come on, mom,” Rickon interrupts just as Sansa opens her mouth to respond to that. “He’s two and its show about hippos. That’s what two-year-olds want to watch.”

 

Rickon is lucky there is the circulation desk between them right now because if there wasn’t, Sansa would be hugging him and not letting him go. Sansa loves every single one of her siblings and they are all close now – especially now that they’re all not living at home – but besides Robb, Sansa has always felt the closest to Rickon for some reason. She thinks it’s because there are ten years between them and when Rickon had been younger, Sansa had just taken it upon herself to be a second mom to him and take care of him while Cat was busy, trying to control Robb, Arya and Bran.

 

“Oh, I know,” Cat shakes her head with a smile. “I don’t know what I’m saying, honestly.”

 

Sansa doesn’t quite believe that, but just pushes it aside for the moment.

 

“I actually have to talk to Sansa about something, mom. I’ll meet you at the daycare center in a few minutes?” Rickon suggests.

 

“Sounds good. See you both in a few.” Cat kisses both Rickon’s and then Sansa’s cheeks before turning and heading out of the library.

 

When she’s gone, Rickon releases a breath and looks back to Sansa.

 

“If I ever get married and have kids, I’m moving clear across the North so she can’t be there,” he says.

 

“Rickon,” Sansa admonishes.

 

“What?” He shrugs. “Come on, Sansa. I love her, but… _come on_.”

 

Sansa purses her lips together to keep from smiling and she just shakes her head. “What did you need to talk to me about?” She asks.

 

“This weekend, I’m going to start training for my meet in Karhold,” Rickon begins.

 

“Alright,” Sansa says, not entirely sure where he’s going with this. “Brandon and I will be going to that meet. Dad’s getting everyone hotel rooms-”

 

“Yeah, I know, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Rickon shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking that running helps me clear my head and when I need to think things through, running really helps me. And I’ve been thinking. Would you want to come running with me, do you think?”

 

Sansa blinks at him for a moment.

 

For as close as she and Rickon are, they’ve never talked about what happened to her and why she came home again four years earlier. He had been eleven-years-old and Sansa wouldn’t blame Ned and Cat if they tried to keep things from him. Anyone would be terrified to see their older sister come home, beaten and abused as she had been.

 

But in the months that followed, as the nightmares and daily terror and affects from Ramsay didn’t leave her, Rickon was one of those who would camp out on her bedroom floor at night, next to her bed. Even at eleven, he was trying to keep her safe.

 

And now, he’s still trying to do that. Sansa tells herself to not start crying, but she’s so close and she blinks quickly so she doesn’t.

 

“Rickon…” she begins to say and then she stops herself and visibly swallows and clears her throat. “I’m not a cross-country runner. I’ll only slow you down.”

 

Rickon shrugs. “You’re running after Brandon all of the time. I bet you could run farther than you think.”

 

“Your cross-country meets are _miles_ ,” Sansa points out to him.

 

“Just five kilometers,” Rickon shrugs again. “It seems further than it really is.”

 

“I can’t run… I’ll just slow you down,” she continues to protest.

 

She has no idea why she’s nervous; even afraid. It’s just running. She hasn’t run since she, herself, went to Wintertown Academy and each year in PE class, they had to run one mile and were timed.

 

“I need to work on my pacing anyway,” Rickon says and Sansa’s not sure why, but she laughs at that. And the sound of her doing so before she puts a hand over her mouth to quiet herself makes Rickon grin.

 

Sansa thinks it over a moment. “I’ll have to go buy running shoes.”

 

“I’ll come with,” Rickon readily volunteers. “I know you. You’ll buy some hot pink numbers that are actually shite to your feet when running.”

 

“Rickon,” she again tries to scold him, but he’s grinning and she can’t help, but let out another laugh.

 

“So this weekend?”

 

“Yeah,” Rickon nods. “Early, Saturday morning. We’ll go shopping for shoes on Friday after school.”

 

“No, not Friday,” Sansa shakes her head and thinks of her next therapy appointment with Dr. Tarth and though she knows that she can tell Rickon in confidence and he will never tell anyone if she asks him not to, but she doesn’t want anyone to know. Not yet. “How about Thursday? I can pick you up from practice at school and then you, me and Brandon can go shopping and get something to eat.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Rickon says and Sansa can’t help, but smile.

 

Running.

 

She has never thought that something like running could possibly help her, but she’s doing what she has to so she can keep moving forward and what will get her forward more than running in that direction?

 

…

 

“Hello?” She answers her ringing cell as she looks over the bolts of fabric spread out in front of her.

 

Mordane’s is the main crafts store in Wintertown and where Sansa goes when she needs to buy fabric. The entire second floor of the store is nothing, but fabrics of any kind a person can imagine, zippers, threads, buttons and anything else a person might need while working on clothing. Due to her love of _Project Runway_ , any time Sansa steps into Mordane’s second floor, she feels like she’s in the Mood store that is always featured on the show.

 

“Hi.”

 

Jon’s voice fills her ear and suddenly, she feels too warm in her coat and scarf.

 

She stops where she stands and smiles faintly, relieved that he can’t see her blush. “Hi,” she greets in return. She turns to see Brandon, chattering to himself in his toddler speak as he walks along the bolts of fabric on the other side of the aisle, touching each one.

 

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?” Jon asks.

 

“Not at all. Brandon and I are fabric shopping at Mordane’s,” Sansa says.

 

“New dress?”

 

“Not this time. I finished my dress for my parents’ anniversary dinner and now, I want to make Brandon something,” she replies. “Brandon, sweetie.” She hurries and grabs his hand back before he can pull down on a hanging piece of fabric, which would send that bolt of fabric – and at least three others – toppling down. “Remember the rule for Mordane’s?” Sansa asks him.

 

“Don’t pull,” Brandon recites and Sansa smiles, bending over and kissing his head.

 

“You want to help me pick a color you like?”

 

“Black!” Brandon seems to immediately explain.

 

“Black? Now you sound like Jon,” Sansa teases.

 

“Hey,” Jon says from the other end, having overheard, and Sansa laughs, hitting the speaker button.

 

“You’re on speaker. Is that okay?” She asks.

 

“Yes. I want to come shopping with you,” Jon says and it’s such a seemingly easy and innocent thing to say, but it makes Sansa smile and something inside of her flutters and she’s glad she didn’t put him on Facetime so he can’t see her right now.

 

She’s pretty sure she looks half-insane, smiling like an idiot in the middle of Mordane’s fabric aisles.

 

“Hi, Jon!” Brandon shouts excitedly upon hearing Jon’s voice through the phone.

 

“Hi, Little Stark,” Jon greets in return. “You want to wear something black?”

 

“Don’t encourage him,” Sansa says with a slight laugh and then with the phone in one hand and Brandon’s hand tucked into her other, she begins leading the way towards the fabrics she thinks she will want to consider for an outfit for Brandon to wear.

 

Ned and Catelyn like to say that they don’t make a large deal out of their wedding anniversaries, but of course, they do. They make reservations at one of the fancier restaurants in Wintertown and everyone in the family is invited and they all wear their best to enjoy some extravagant six course meal that always ends with Ned standing up and making a toast to his wonderful and beautiful wife, who he is still in love with after all of these years. And every year, the kids try to grab the check before Ned can, but he always beats them to it and says that they aren’t paying for this dinner. Ned and Cat’s anniversary is a celebration for the _whole_ family and not just for them.

 

Sansa already knows she won’t make Brandon anything too elaborate to wear. He just grows too fast and it would be pointless to spend too much money and time on an outfit for him, but she does want to make something of her own to wear to the dinner rather than just to the store and buy something.

 

“How about…” Sansa stops at the wool fabrics. “A black wool sweater and… grey corduroy pants. Or black. I think black.”

 

“Yes!” Brandon exclaims even though he doesn’t know what any of that means.

 

Sansa laughs slightly. “What do you think, Jon?” She asks. “As the man who wears nothing, but black?”

 

“I think I might need you to make me the same,” Jon replies.

 

Sansa stills at that. She watches as Brandon begins talking to himself once again as he touches different bolts of wool fabric. She swallows. “Do you… do you mean that?” She asks in a quiet voice she hadn’t meant to use.

 

Working in the library and being a librarian is a job she enjoys doing and she’s very good at her job.

 

But designing clothes and creating her own fashions, that’s what she absolutely _loves_.

 

She would have loved to pursue it somehow once she was at the university, but her parents – as they had done with Robb – had convinced her that perhaps she should chase down something a little bit more stable. And in the end, they were absolutely right and Sansa is still grateful for their gentle pushing. With a son and being a single mom, having a job at Winterfell University gives her a steady income and steady health insurance and being a designer would have just been too precarious a life to have for herself while raising a child.

 

Every moment she has free, she is designing and sewing and creating. She tailors Robb’s suits for him and she made a dress for Arya – even though she hates wearing dresses – for when she had to attend a function at Gendry’s work and Meera has already approached Sansa about creating her a wedding dress for when she marries Bran next fall. And sewing so many of her own dresses and making so many of Brandon’s clothes, she receives compliments constantly. Robb and Arya, both, have said that she should make up business cards and start a side business.

 

Sansa knows she doesn’t have the time for something like that, but deep down, she keeps hold of that dream.

 

“Of course I mean it,” Jon says. “I never know what to wear to your parents’ anniversary dinners and what you just described for Brandon sounds perfect for me, too. Only if you want to though. I know it’s a lot of work and you have plenty of other things to-”

 

“I would love to make you something,” she cuts him off and her words are strong.

 

Because not only is making something for someone so special to her, it’s also incredibly intimate. A part of herself is in everything she creates and to make something for Jon to wear, she knows that he’s not stupid and he’s aware of how much it means to her to do that for someone. She knows that he’s not stupid and he knows that this is another big step for her; to _want_ and _agree_ to make him something.

 

“I’ll, um, I’ll have to get your measurements,” she then says as if she’s only just now realizing that.

 

And perhaps she is because imagining wrapping a measuring tape around Jon’s frame, all over his body, she wonders if Mordane’s has their heat turned up to the highest degree because she swears that she can feel tiny sweat droplets break out across the small of her back.

 

Jon clears his throat from the other end. “Of course,” he murmurs quietly and Sansa’s not the only one to sound a little off-kilter now and Jon seems to have realized how close she’ll have to get to him to do such a thing. “And I’m going to pay you so just let me know how much it’s going to cost.”

 

“Jon-”

 

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to let you make me pants and a sweater and _not_ pay you, Sansa,” Jon swiftly cuts her off and she can’t see his face, but she can imagine the slight frown marring his features for her thought.

 

“Of all the things I’ve been called, insane has never been one of them,” Sansa quips and she’s trying to make a joke and break the mood, but there’s nothing funny about what lies beneath her words and she knows that.

 

So does Jon. Because he might have been an idiot when he was twenty, but he’s not twenty anymore.

 

“I think you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” Jon says then in that low voice of his that never fails to make her shiver. It doesn’t fail this time either.

 

“You’re still on speaker,” she feels the need to remind him.

 

“You think I’d mind the world hearing what I think of you?” Jon asks. “I’m done hiding when it comes to you.”

 

Sansa hasn’t the faintest idea of what to say to that. She feels completely overwhelmed; like she can’t breathe, but she needs to keep breathing because she doesn’t want to miss a moment of anything that is happening right now.

 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Jon then asks, changing topics so swiftly, it takes her a moment to catch up.

 

Her eyes catch Brandon and she hurries over to him as he has wandered over to the fur shelves and are petting each one. Sansa knows her son and petting leads to pulling and then they’ll have a right furry mess everywhere. She gently grabs Brandon’s hand and gives him a shake of her head and he grins innocently up at her.

 

“Tomorrow’s Tuesday. Tuesdays are notorious for being non-plan days,” Sansa smiles a little.

 

She can hear Jon smiling as well on the other end.

 

“I know it’s short notice and it’s completely up to you, but if you’d like to, I’d like very much to take you out on our date tomorrow night.”

 

He keeps doing that. He keeps stealing her breath away.

 

She’s aware that she’s quiet; too quiet. She makes herself speak before Jon can think something that’s not true.

 

“I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more than go out with you tomorrow night,” Sansa finally replies.

 

She can’t help, but smile when she hears him exhaling a breath he had obviously been holding. Sansa’s glad to hear that she’s not the only one who forgets how to breathe when the other is around.

 

It is only after she ends the call and one of Mordane’s employees are cutting her chosen fabrics, Brandon in her arms so he stops trying to pull on bolts, does Sansa really realize that she has a date with Jon Snow tomorrow night.

 

And she has absolutely no idea what she is going to wear.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter makes sense. I have a sinus infection and am taking a couple of different medicines so fingers crossed with this update. I can't wait for the next chapter. Sansa and Jon are going out on a date! And it might seem strange, but I'm excited for Sansa and Rickon to go running together, too. We will also have another therapy session coming up as well. Thank you so, so much for the response you continue to show this story. I have no idea how long it will be just because there is still so much I want to write for it.


	19. Date Night Inspiration

Jon and Sansa's inspiration looks for their first date in the next chapter:

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/37632252214/in/dateposted-public/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/26571395069/in/dateposted-public/)


	20. Nineteen

…

 

**Nineteen.**

Sansa doesn’t face her reflection in the full length mirror standing in the corner of her bedroom as she zips up the eighth dress and only once it is in place on her body does she turn to look at herself. Every dress before putting this one, she has found fault in and she stares now, looking to do the same. She has always loved her dresses – having made many of them herself since the stores don’t seem to carry dresses that offer the type of body coverage she both desires and needs – but for some reason, tonight, she finds almost all of them to be lacking in some way.

 

She has always loved this dress: a high-waisted black skirt that ends a couple inches above her knees and the top made out of delicate white lace. _Before_ , it had been solid across her breasts and upper arms, the lace in a layer thin enough for her chest, shoulders and slip of her stomach to be revealed. _After_ , however, she adjusted it and now, the lace is thick enough to hide every inch of skin on her upper body. Despite the coverage, there is still a light airiness to it that Sansa has always loved.

 

Maybe there will be a time to show Jon all of her scars, but tonight is definitely not the time.

 

Finally, she releases a breath. Yes, this dress will do. She’s not entirely sure where Jon is taking her tonight, but he had mentioned dinner and the dress is beautiful while not being _too_ overly fancy. Even if they wind up going to a pizzeria, Sansa won’t feel over-dressed and if they go somewhere a bit more upscale, she won’t feel like a slob.

 

She leaves her hair down, waving a bit to hang just past her breasts, and she turns towards her dresser. She doesn’t overdo it on makeup. She rarely wears too much anyway and tonight, she leaves it simple as well. It’s Jon. She keeps telling herself this. Jon has seen her completely done for the fanciest of evenings and has seen her in pajamas with her hair thrown in a knot at the top of her head. That was one thing about Jon from when they were seeing one another years ago that she had never forgotten. There was a way that Jon had looked at her then and he hasn’t stopped looking at her in that way.

 

He has always looked at her as if she’s truly the most beautiful woman in the room.

 

She hopes he looks at her like that again tonight. She’s nervous about the date – _ridiculously_ nervous. It’s been so long since she’s been on a date with a man and she honestly doesn’t know if she remembers how to be on a date. But despite the flutters in her stomach, Sansa knows that she’s _ready_ to go on a date; especially this date. With Jon. And a part of herself is definitely nervous from going on a date with _Jon_ , but she’s ready. She’s moving forward and the past is the past and she wants to move forward with Jon.

 

From the other side of her closed bedroom door, she can hear Brandon laugh and a second later, Margaery is laughing, too, and clapping her hands. Sansa smiles at her reflection as she finishes applying her makeup and she then steps back, turning towards the full-length mirror once more. She smooths her hands down the front of her skirt and then her eyes move to the clock on the bedside table. He said he’d be here at six-thirty and its six twenty-five now.

 

If Jon is still Jon, he won’t be late.

 

Sansa pairs the dress with simple black heels – not too high – and with another deep breath, she finally leaves the bedroom, instantly smiling when she looks upon the living room to see her son and Margaery. They are both on the carpet, playing Brandon’s favorite memory game; the pieces larger than other memory games and these made from foam – the game specifically intended for toddlers.

 

“Owl and…” Margaery pauses and flips over one of the over-turned pieces.

 

“Bear!” Brandon exclaims. “No match!”

 

Margaery releases and over-exaggerated sigh. “I am dreadful at this game. You just can’t be beat, Little Stark,” she tells the little boy.  

 

“I have puzzles,” Brandon eagerly tells her.

 

Margaery claps her hands. “I love puzzles,” she beams and Brandon beams in return.

 

He puts his hands on the floor and pushes himself to his feet. When he turns and sees Sansa standing there, watching with a smile, he gasps. “Mama!” He exclaims as if they have been apart for hours and he comes running over and Sansa lets out a laugh, stooping down and sweeping him up in her arms.

 

“Are you having fun with Margaery?” She asks and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“She’s got no memory!” Brandon exclaims gleefully and Sansa and Margaery both laugh at that.

 

“Go and get your puzzles, sweetling,” Sansa smiles and then bends down, putting him back to his feet, and Brandon scurries into his bedroom. Sansa looks to Margaery. “I can’t thank you enough for this. I know it was such short notice-”

 

“Stop,” Margaery says as she gets to her feet as well. “I love Brandon and I have absolutely no life. It’s a sad state of affairs, really,” she then muses and Sansa lets out a laugh.

 

“I don’t know if I believe that. You and Robb seem to be spending quite a bit of time together lately.”

 

And for as bold and confident Margaery seems at all times, she visibly blushes now.

 

The doorbell rings at that moment and Sansa jumps slightly and Lady begins barks, going to the front door as if she knows exactly who it is. With slightly shaking fingers, Sansa fixes her hair as if it’s mussed and she smooths her hands down the front of her skirt again. The fluttering in her stomach intensifies.

 

“Stop,” Margaery reads her mind and steps up to her, taking Sansa's hands so she'll stop fussing with herself and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “You look absolutely beautiful and I haven’t known Jon Snow that long at all, but I know for a fact that he’s not blind.”

 

Sansa nods her head automatically and does her best to keep breathing. Looking to Margaery – and Margaery giving her a wide, encouraging smile – Sansa is finally able to step forward, going to the door. She gently pushes Lady back and taking a deep breath, she disarms the alarm system and opens the door.

 

Jon is standing on her front porch and the instant he sees her through the screen door, he goes completely still. He doesn’t say anything for a moment – just staring at her and taking in her appearance – and Sansa feels herself blush as the fluttering is completely uncontrollable now.

 

He’s wearing his navy blue wool coat so she can’t see what he’s wearing beneath, but she _can_ see that he is wearing tan khaki pants and his black curls are down.

 

After a beat, Jon seems to snap himself out of it and he shakes his head slightly. “Sansa,” he says her name then – softly as if he’s saying a prayer. “You look so beautiful.”

  
Sansa’s blush deepens as she unlocks the screen door and pushes it open for him. “Thank you,” she says shyly and steps back so he can come inside. He still won’t move his eyes from her and she feels like she’s blushing all over while commending herself for obviously choosing the right dress to wear tonight. “I just need to get my coat and say good night to Brandon.” She looks at him as if making sure that’s alright.

 

Jon gives her a small, warm smile. “Our reservation’s at seven. We have a ton of time.”

 

Sansa smiles, too, and turns back towards the living room.

 

Margaery is still standing there, smiling at the couple. “Looking good, Snow,” she gives him a grin.

 

Jon smirks a little. “Told you I’d clean up nicely for tonight,” he replies and Margaery laughs. Sansa can’t help, but look curiously between the both of them. “She stopped by at the flat on her way over here to see Robb. Told me I had to look my best for tonight,” Jon explains.

 

Sansa looks back to Margaery and Margaery gives her a quick wink that makes Sansa blush shyly and she turns her head to look back at Jon.

 

“So… Robb knows we’re going out tonight?” She asks.

 

If Robb knows, her whole family knows by now.

 

“Did you not want anyone to know?” Jon asks.

 

Sansa admits she’s not too sure how to answer that.

 

It’s not as if she wants to keep her and Jon going out tonight as a secret. She and Jon have had too many secrets in regards to their relationship. But, still, she had hoped that they would be able to have tonight without the pressure of her mom or Robb or even Arya calling her tomorrow, pressing for how it went.

 

She has wanted tonight to be just theirs.

 

Sansa shakes her head slightly and gives him a small smile. “They’d have found out soon enough,” she answers. “Especially since I can’t imagine this being our only date,” she then adds and that answer makes Jon break into his own smile and his own cheeks look a bit pink to her now as well.

 

“I got puzzle!” Brandon exclaims then, hurrying back into the room, a box hugged to his chest. “Jon!” He then exclaims the second he sees Jon standing there and dropping the box to the floor, Brandon comes running over. Something in Sansa seems to melt as Jon easily swoops Brandon up into his arms. “You come to do puzzle?” The boy asks curiously.

 

Jon gives him a smile. “Actually, I’m starving and your mama is going to come eat dinner with me,” he tells the boy, holding him in his arms so they’re face-to-face.

 

Sansa smiles and rubs a hand on Brandon’s back. “Remember, sweetling? Margaery has come to keep you company until I come home again.”

 

Brandon looks at her, his little brow furrowed with confusion, but after a second, his face relaxes again and he nods. “I member!” He exclaims proudly.

 

“I’ll bring her back safe and sound to you, Little Stark,” Jon vows solemnly and Brandon giggles at that.

 

Jon gives him a smile, too, and then bends down, returning Brandon to his feet, and running a hand over Brandon’s head, Sansa then moves past him to go to the closet to get her light pink wool coat. She begins to slip it on and suddenly, she senses Jon behind her. She looks over her shoulder as he helps her put it on and he’s looking at her and Sansa is very well aware of her blush now.

 

“Thank you,” she tells him quietly.

 

Jon looks like he wants to say something then, but he stops himself and takes a step back so Sansa can turn around. Brandon is sitting on the carpet, having overturned the puzzle box so the large foam pieces are on the floor with him. Sansa crouches down in front of him and Brandon lifts his head from looking at two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together, giving her a grin. Sansa smiles, too.

 

“You’ll be good for Margaery until I get back?” She asks.

 

“Yep!” He readily agrees.

 

“I love you very much, Brandon,” Sansa then says and leans in, giving him a kiss on his forehead.

 

“Love you, mama,” he chirps in return and she gives him another smile before standing back up.

 

She goes over last minute instructions with Margaery even though she’s already told the woman everything, but she’s still a bit nervous leaving Brandon alone with someone who isn’t a member of her family; not because she thinks that Margaery won’t do the best job. Sansa knows that she is the one who’s nervous about leaving her son because she always is. Whether it be with her parents or Robb or Arya. She just always gets so nervous for so many different reasons.

 

Jon is standing at the front door, rubbing Lady behind one of her ears and not acting impatient whatsoever. Sansa goes to grab her purse and meets Jon at the door as Margaery walks with her.

 

“I love you, Brandon,” Sansa tells her son one more time.

 

He is still on the floor, still trying to fit together those two pieces that don’t fit. He lifts his head and gives her a wide grin. “Love you, mama! Bye, Jon!”

 

“Good night, Brandon,” Jon smiles at him.

 

“Have fun, you two!” Margaery bids after them as Jon and Sansa step out onto the little front porch.

 

“Don’t forget to set the alarm,” Sansa reminds her for what has to be the fifth time.

 

“Good night,” Margaery gives Sansa another wink and Sansa blushes as the front door is then closed.

 

When Sansa turns her head away from her front door, she looks to Jon and finds he’s already looking at her. She tries to give him a small smile, but suddenly, she is so overcome with nerves, she isn’t able to.

 

Jon notices. “Sansa, we don’t have to go out tonight,” he tells her. “I don’t want to rush you-”

 

“No,” Sansa is quick to cut him off. “I want to go out tonight. With you. I’m just…” she pauses and her throat feels so dry just then. She does her best to swallow. “I haven’t been out on a date for so long.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Jon gives her a small smile.

 

“How about…” Sansa is able to smile now. “One step at a time?” She suggests.

 

Jon smiles a little wider at that. “Right,” he gives a nod. “Step one. Walking to the car.”

 

Sansa laughs at that and Jon’s smile grows. Her smile is much easier as well and Jon heads down the two steps first. He then turns back towards her and he holds his hand towards her. Sansa does not hesitate in slipping her hand into his and she sees the brief flash of surprise across Jon’s eyes. She admits that she’s a bit surprised herself as well that she had taken his hand so easily.

 

Sansa holds his hand as she goes down the two steps until she is on the same ground as him.

 

“I didn’t want you to slip on any ice,” Jon murmurs an explanation and Sansa does not dare point out to him that there isn’t a patch of ice anywhere and she had salted the steps that morning.

 

Sansa turns her hand in his so her fingers can twine with his and Jon gives it the barest of squeezes.

 

“Step one?” She smiles as he continues standing there, staring at her.

 

That snaps Jon out of it and he shakes his head. “Right. Still on step one,” he says and she laughs.

 

He walks her to his car, which is actually his pickup truck with _Snow Construction_ and the company’s phone number painted on each door, and he opens the passenger door for her. Thankfully, it’s not such a massive truck where she has to swing herself up into and she is able to step up and sit down gracefully.

 

Jon makes sure that she and her dress are both tucked inside before he closes the door and Sansa takes a deep, steadying breath as she watches through the windshield as Jon walks around the front of the truck and climbs in on the driver’s side. He turns the key in the ignition and he immediately begins turning knobs, turning on the heat, directing the vents towards her.

 

He has the radio on and the volume is turned down low, but after a moment, Sansa recognizes the song. Jon is like her. He might not love The Beatles as she does, but he still loves music from the sixties, and right now, he’s listening to _Lady of the Island_ by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

 

_Holding you close undisturbed before a fire._

_The pressure in my chest when you breathe in my ear._

_We both knew this would happen,_

_When you first appeared._

_My lady of the island._

“Sorry,” Jon says as if he’s embarrassed that this is the song he’s listening to while she’s here with him and his hand reaches out to turn it off, but Sansa reaches out as well, placing her hand over his.

 

“I like this song,” she gives him a small smile.

 

Jon looks at her for a moment and returns her small smile with one of his own. “So, step two. Driving to the restaurant,” he says then and Sansa laughs softly.

 

“Jon,” Sansa says his name before he can reverse out of her driveway and he stops immediately. He looks at her and waits for her to continue. She licks her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I don’t know. I just… I just wanted to say your name then.”

 

It’s not the truth and she knows it and her face blushes accordingly.

 

Jon seems to know that that’s not the truth either. “You can tell me,” he tells her gently. “Sansa… I want you to be able to tell me anything. No matter what it is.”

 

She looks at him, silently, feeling the seconds tick by and she tells herself that they have a reservation to keep, but she can’t seem to get herself to speak and Jon keeps watching her, waiting her and not trying to get her to hurry up either.

 

She thinks of Dr. Tarth then. _“People sometimes forget how much can be accomplished when they just talk with one another and listen.”_

 

She had already taken her therapist’s advice and she and Jon have been able to talk and get things out that had long since gone unspoken between them and now they’re here, going on their first date. She’s able to admit to herself that she loves him – has never stopped loving him – and she wants to be with him. She is ready to move forward – more than ready – and she can admit that she wants Jon with her.

 

“I’m scared,” she finally is able to whisper.

 

“Me, too,” Jon says in return; almost immediately. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I mess this up again. You… You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted, Sansa, and I… if I get another chance to be with you and mess it up for a second time…” he trails off and shakes his head. “I would never… I don’t think I’ll survive that,” he then admits.

 

“Me neither,” Sansa confesses.

 

Jon stares into her eyes and its dark outside, but the front porch light is on, spilling into the front cab of the truck and they can still see one another.

 

“I love you, Sansa,” he says, his voice soft, but his words strong and he has said those words to her before, but the times before, she hadn’t been ready to hear them.

 

Sansa knows that.

 

Now, though, Jon says those four words to her and her insides all sprout wings and begin fluttering madly around inside of her, held captive only by her skin and bones. If they could, she would certain they would fly right away and she would be nothing, but a puddled mess on the floor of his truck.

 

Sansa reminds herself that she needs to continue moving slowly. There had been a time when she had leapt in something with Jon, head-first, and look at how that had turned out. This time around, she needs to be smarter; more careful. She’s not a flighty teenager anymore. She has responsibilities to both herself and to her son. She can’t afford to leap head-first into _anything_ anymore with anyone.

 

But if being with Ramsay showed her anything, it’s that life is too short and uncertain. Anything can happen and Sansa knows that this is exactly where she wants to be – with Jon tonight, sitting in his truck. She’s not going to deny that to herself; not anymore.

 

Sansa does something then that she never does.

 

She stops thinking.

 

Leaning across the bench seat of the truck, she finds Jon’s lips and presses her own against his.

 

It’s a light kiss – hardly lasting even one full second – and it can barely even be considered a kiss; just the faintest meeting of lips. But there can be no mistaking it for something else and when Sansa pulls her lips back, she looks to Jon’s face and his eyes are slightly wide as he stares at her. She almost smiles. It’s about time that she’s the one to catch him completely off guard.

 

“I love you, too,” she whispers, her eyes staring into his.

 

Jon’s face moves closer to hers. “Say it again,” he says, also whispering, and he’s not demanding; simply requesting, and Sansa smiles faintly.

 

“I love you, Jon,” she whispers again and the words leave her lips so easily, she wonders if her subconscious has finally accepted the fact that she’s not going to be held back anymore.

 

Jon leans in and she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but instead, his nose nuzzles against hers affectionately and then his forehead rests to her. “I want to kiss you, but I don’t want us to be late for our reservation.”

 

Sansa smiles at that. “We can wait,” she decides.

 

“Can we?” Jon wonders out loud and she’s glad to see that her kiss has shaken him a bit. She rather likes having the upper-hand – if even for a moment of time.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she then responds and brushes her nose against his again.

 

Jon closes his eyes and Sansa’s own flutter as his nose brushes along her cheek and once again, she has to remind herself to keep breathing, but the front cab is suddenly feeling so warm to her.

 

 Me, neither,” he whispers.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is alright. Date night continues in the next chapter and I'm worried that I'm having Sansa and Jon moving too quickly together now, but there is still quite a bit with this story that needs to be told. You all are the absolute best. Thank you!


	21. Twenty

…

 

**Twenty.**

Nico’s is a small Italian restaurant that has always been Sansa’s favorite. Whenever one of the kids – or Jon – did well on a particularly difficult exam at school, Ned and Cat would let that kid pick where they wanted to go and they would all go out for a celebratory dinner. Sansa had always chosen to go to Nico’s. And because it is such a small restaurant, Ned would usually have to reserve the whole space for a couple of hours the evening they went for dinner.

 

People might call it cozy or intimate – a space only big enough to hold fifteen tables and in the evenings, the lights are dimmed low and candles on the tables provide the main light.

 

When Jon pulls into the restaurant’s parking lot, a smile instantly splits across her face and Jon lets out a laugh as she claps excitedly; muffled with the mittens on her hands. It has been quite a while since the last time she has been here and she feels her mouth already watering for the dinner to come.

 

“So, this was the right choice?” Jon asks, teasing her.

 

Sansa, again, doesn’t think about it. She leans across the seat and cupping his cheeks between her mitten-clad hands, she gives him a quick kiss. “Very right choice,” she smiles at him; practically beaming.

 

Jon smiles at that and opens his door. “Stay,” he then tells her as he gets out, closing the door behind him. Sansa watches as he walks around the front of the truck and then comes to her side, opening the door for her. She blushes as he holds out his hand. “Step three. Going into the restaurant,” he smiles and Sansa laughs as she slips her hand into his and gracefully slides down from the truck to the ground.

 

Jon holds her hand as they cross the parking lot and he holds the door open for her to step inside first. He holds her hand as he goes to the hostess stand to inform the woman there that he has a reservation. And he holds her hand as they weave through the tables until they are shown to theirs – a square wooden table for two against one the walls, beneath a photograph of the Trevi Fountain in Rome.

 

Sansa gives Jon a smile from over her shoulder as he helps her take her coat off and then holds her chair out for her. She settles herself down and Jon takes his own coat off before sitting down across from her. She sees that he is wearing a blue button down shirt beneath a navy blue V-neck sweater. The hostess hands them both menus as well as Jon a wine menu before leaving with a smile.

 

Jon takes the wine menu and places it on the table, pushing it towards her. “You can get whatever you want,” he offers.

 

Sansa shakes her head. “I’m not much of a drinker either,” she says with a small smile at him while opening her menu. And even if she did want a glass of wine, she would _never_ drink in front of Jon. “Let me guess,” she then says while tapping her chin with her finger. “The lasagna,” she says and lifts her eyes to look at Jon and he is smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

 

“And I bet you’re going to get the smoked sausage rigatoni with sun-dried tomatoes and mushrooms,” Jon says and Sansa lets out a quiet laugh while nodding. Jon keeps smiling and she takes a moment to look at him sitting across from her.

 

“At least that hasn’t changed,” Sansa muses quietly.

 

Their waitress comes and they both order their dinners as well as glasses of Coke. Once she’s gone again, Jon takes the basket of bread that the waitress has dropped off and moves it across the table so it’s between his arm and the wall and away from Sansa.

 

“Thank you,” she smiles, almost laughing.

 

She feels a warmth pooling in her stomach. It’s such a seemingly nothing gesture, but Jon knows that if a basket of bread is in front of her, she’ll wind up eating the entire basket and won’t have room for dinner. Same at Mexican restaurants when baskets of tortilla chips are set in front of her. Whenever she is out to dinner with her family, everyone knows that there can’t be anything in front of Sansa before her dinner. 

 

It’s silly because Jon has been out to eat with them countless times now, but still, having him move the bread basket away from her now, she looks at him and can’t seem to find herself able to look away again.

 

“I have a few questions,” she says after a moment, sounding on a bit of the shy side; as if she’s embarrassed or nervous. She supposes she _is_ nervous though she knows there’s no reason to be.

 

“Anything,” Jon readily agrees with a single nod of his head.

 

Sansa exhales softly. “Is _Braveheart_ still your favorite movie?”

 

She knows he hadn’t been expecting _that_ to be her question in the least, but he keeps the surprise from his face. Instead, he nods.

 

“It is. And yours? Is it still _Roman Holiday_?”

 

Sansa smiles and nods. “It is.” Jon smiles, too. “My favorite song?”

 

Jon snorts. “Not much difficulty,” he teases.

 

“Then what is it, Mr. Know-it-all?” She asks with laughter in her tone.

 

“ _While My Guitar Gently Weeps_ ,” he answers easily. “And you know mine.”

 

“Still?” She asks.

 

“Hey, it’s a classic,” Jon gives her one of his rare grins.

 

“It’s something alright,” she quips and he laughs this time.

 

“Don’t be a music snob, Sansa,” he tells her good-naturedly and she lets out a laugh. “ _Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard_ is the definition of a perfect song,” he says and she just keeps laughing and he’s smiling widely, never taking his eyes off of her.

 

The waitress comes back with their glasses of Coke and both thank her before being left alone again.

 

“My favorite television show?” Jon continues their game.

 

Sansa thinks on that for a moment. “That’s a trick. You’ve never really had a favorite television show.”

 

Jon smiles at that, looking almost proud because she didn’t get tripped up. “I could say it’s _Project Runway_ ,” he then comments.

 

“That won’t count though,” Sansa shakes her head as if this is a very serious game and there are very serious rules to it that need to be followed. “What was the last season you watched?” She then asks curiously; thinking it will be season eight.

 

“I’m still watching,” he then reveals – casually and with a slight shrug.

 

Sansa stills and stares at him as if he has just informed her that he’s found the location of the Holy Grail and is about to embark on a backpacking trip to go and get it.

 

“You are?” Sansa asks in a whisper, feeling as if she’s hardly breathing.

 

 “It’s terrible and I still miss Michael Kors.”

 

Sansa just keeps looking at him and there are so many things running through her head right now, she doesn’t even know where to begin and what to say first. It’s been _years_ since they broke up, but he still watches her favorite show? She can’t really even register what that means because it means so much – to her – and she wonders if he knows how big of a deal she finds this.

 

She visibly swallows and lifts her glass, taking a sip of Coke through the straw.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon then says and her eyes fly to him. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

 

Sansa quickly shakes her head. “No, you haven’t. I just… I can’t believe you still watch.”

 

Jon shrugs and looks down to the table as if he can’t meet her eyes right this moment. “I just wanted to try and feel a little closer to you,” he murmurs so quietly, Sansa nearly can’t hear him and she leans forward a little into the table. Jon lifts his head. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I’m sorry for being so stupid and scared and waiting-”

 

Sansa cuts him off with a shake of her head. “Not tonight. Please, Jon?”

 

Jon stares at her for a moment, the flame of the candle on their table dancing in his eyes, but then – finally – he gives a nod. “Not tonight,” he agrees and she smiles faintly at him. “So, if you could only choose one, lemon cakes or hot chocolate?” He asks.

 

Sansa gasps as if that’s the worst thing she’s ever heard and Jon is smiling easier now. “That’s a very cruel conundrum to throw at me,” she says, giving him a cross frown. He just keeps smiling though. “Fine. Hot chocolate,” she answers and Jon’s eyebrows shoot up.

 

She smiles faintly. She likes surprising him. Yes, he has shown that he still knows the basics, but that’s exactly what they are. The basics. She has changed so much since she was eighteen, just as she expects he has changed since he was twenty. She doesn’t want to be naïve enough to believe that she still knows him and she hopes that he doesn’t think he does when it comes to her.

 

“Lemon cakes are wonderful, but they can’t keep me warm from the inside out when it’s snowing twenty feet outside,” Sansa explains and that makes Jon smile and shake his head.

 

“Very good point,” he agrees.

 

“But I thankfully never have to live in a world where I need to choose.” She throws him a smile at that and he smiles, too. Her stomach flutters as she finds herself looking into his eyes and not able to look away.

 

She can’t still really believe that she’s here. On a date with Jon Snow after all of this time. She’s kissed him and told him that she loves him and he’s told her that he loves her – and she believes him. They love each other and they’re moving forward together and she has felt happy over the past few years – mainly in matters that concern Brandon. Christmases and birthdays, seeing her son so happy makes her happy.

 

But tonight, with Jon, this is the first time that she can remember in a long time where she feels genuinely happy because something is happening to _her_.

 

The waitress arrives back to their table with their plates of food and they are left alone moments later to eat. Sansa is smiling faintly to herself as she unfolds her silverware and lays her napkin across her lap.

 

“What is it?” Jon asks and Sansa lifts her eyes from her food to find him looking at her.

 

Sansa gives him a smile and shake of her head. “I’m just really happy right now,” she tells him honestly.

 

Jon pauses and she can see him swallow and he seems to be taking that moment to settle her statement in his mind. “Because of the food?” He then asks playfully.

 

“Obviously,” Sansa laughs and Jon gives her that grin of his again.

 

“There’s somewhere else I want to take you after we eat,” Jon says as he picks up his own fork and knife.

 

“It probably won’t top this,” she teases lightly as she happily stabs one of the mushrooms and a piece of pasta with her fork.

 

Jon just smiles and shakes his head. “You’re right. It probably won’t,” he concedes.

 

Beneath the table, she uncrosses her left from her right to cross her right over her left and in doing so, Sansa’s foot brushes against Jon’s leg. It’s a small table and there isn’t that much room and she’s about to apologize, but something inside of her stops her before she can. She focuses on eating and leaves her foot resting against Jon’s leg. Jon doesn’t say anything about it and Sansa notices that he doesn’t move his leg for the rest of the meal.

 

…

 

“It’s not far,” Jon says once they eat and Jon pays the check and they leave Nico’s, stepping back outside. “But I don’t want your legs to freeze.” He glances down to her bare legs before back to her face.

 

Sansa smiles, feeling warm and full and quite content. “I don’t mind walking,” she tells him.

 

“Alright,” he smiles a little. “It’s not far,” he then promises again.

 

He has slipped on his own gloves and he seems to hesitate for a moment until Sansa makes the move and holds onto his hand with one of hers. Jon gives her a small – somewhat shy – smile and she smiles in return. His other hand goes into the pocket of his coat and Sansa hugs his arm to her chest as they walk.

 

The main business district of Wintertown where most of the stores and shops are located, the bare trees lining the streets are decorated in strings of white lights and despite the frigid night, Jon and Sansa aren’t the only ones out, walking and shopping. People from the North do not hide themselves from cold weather. If they did, no one in the North would ever step foot outside.

 

When they stop at a corner to wait for the pedestrian light to change, Sansa can’t help, but turn her head slightly and close her eyes as she lightly presses her nose into the arm of Jon’s coat. And she smiles faintly when she feels Jon’s lips lightly on her forehead.

 

“This is it,” he says, stopping her outside of a little shop – _Grenn’s Used Books and Records_.

 

Sansa looks at him curiously, but steps inside when he pulls the door open for her. She is immediately hit with a blast of heat and that lovely smell that only books possess. Jon comes beside her and his hand ghosts over her back. She turns her head and her expression must be still one of curiosity because he smiles a bit and his cheeks are a shade of pink that Sansa suspects isn’t from the cold outside.

 

“I was thinking that we could start looking for records to build your collection up again,” he manages to explain, the stain on his cheeks darker now.

 

Sansa doesn’t know what to say to that, to be honest.

 

Four years ago, she had gotten out of the flat she and Ramsay shared as quickly as she could. The pregnancy stick had just turned pink and she wasn’t going to linger. She took what she could fit in her bag and unfortunately, none of her records had been able to come.

 

She tries not to think of her old collection. It had been small, but she had worked hard on building it and she had loved every record included – especially her Beatles records. It’s just been easier to not think of those things she left behind because they are just that. _Things_. She got out of there and she got her precious baby out of there and those were the only things that mattered. Not some records that she can always try and replace.

 

But she _has_ missed having a record turning in her house because no, cds just aren’t the same though few people seem to understand why.

 

Without a word, she cups Jon’s cheeks and gives him a kiss. “Thank you,” she whispers even though that really doesn’t begin to explain her gratitude for such a seemingly small suggestion, but Jon understands because he gives her a small smile and nudges her nose with his.

 

“Let’s go see what they have,” he suggests and she smiles just at the idea of maybe finding something.

 

Sansa immediately heads towards the “B” records and pulling her mittens off, she begins flipping through them slowly yet excitedly.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Jon says after a moment. “I just have to use the bathroom.”

 

Sansa nods and admits she’s hardly paying attention when he leaves her side. She allows herself to be disappointed for just a moment when she sees that the store doesn’t have any Beatles records before she brushes it off and continues looking through the other letters. There is a Fleetwood Mac record, but Sansa doesn’t feel like spending the money for it, honestly. Not tonight, at least. Maybe she’ll come back later.

 

Her phone dings and she pulls it from her pocket. She smiles once she sees it is a text from Margaery. When she swipes to unlock her phone and opens the text, a video begins playing. Margaery is sitting on the couch with Brandon – changed into his pajamas – sitting on her lap.

 

“Good night, mama!” Brandon exclaims and waves at the screen and Margaery is smiling and waving, too.

 

Sansa smiles, almost laughing, when she watches it and she has no idea why she feels like crying.

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees someone and turning, she sees that it’s Jon standing at the register, talking to the man on the other side as the man hands Jon a plain brown paper bag. They shake hands and Jon tucks the bag beneath his arm. It’s slim and flat and Sansa turns to face him as he approaches.

 

“Find anything?” She asks.

 

“I put in a request a couple of months ago,” Jon answers. “I’ll give it to you when we get you back home.”

 

“It’s for me?” She can’t help, but be surprised at that.

 

“Do you want to get back to Brandon?” Jon asks instead of answering her question.

 

“Yes,” Sansa answers with a slight laugh, as if embarrassed, but Jon just smiles and after putting on his gloves, this time, he holds out his hand for her to take.

 

And after slipping her mittens back on, Sansa takes his hand. Quite happily.

 

…

 

As Jon drives back to her home, there is a knot in Sansa’s stomach that only tightens the closer they get.

 

She’s not sure what’s wrong with her. Jon has made absolutely no inclination to her that he expects _anything_ and even if he does, that doesn’t mean Sansa has to do anything she doesn’t want to do. They have just begun taking the steps to start a relationship again. She loves him, but she’s not ready for anything more than holding his hand and exchanging a few soft kisses. She can’t imagine doing anything more with Jon; not right now.

 

The last time Jon saw her naked, she was eighteen and having a baby put aside, her body definitely doesn’t look like it did when she was eighteen. Just the thought of Jon seeing her naked now, it makes her heart quicken in her chest and she keeps her head turned away from him the entire drive home.

 

Jon pulls into the driveway and shifts into park. He’s quiet for a moment and Sansa slowly turns her head away from the window to look at him.

 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks.

 

“No,” Sansa immediately answers with a shake of her head. “No, Jon. Tonight was… it was perfect,” she winds up whispering that last part as if it’s some grand secret. “I just… I’m not ready for anything more. Right now,” she quickly adds because maybe, someday she will be. “I don’t… I’m not ready.”

 

Jon’s brow crinkles slightly. “I’m not ready either, Sansa,” he tells her. “Was I acting… I don’t expect anything. It’s one date. Our _first_ date. We don’t have to…” he trails off and shakes his head.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa moves closer to him on the bench seat. “I shouldn’t have thought that. I just got too caught up in my head and thought… I don’t know what I thought,” she then shakes her head and takes both of Jon’s hands in her. “I’m sorry,” she then says.

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. As long as _I_ didn’t make it seem like I wanted that.”

 

Sansa smiles faintly. “You don’t?” She asks quietly; teasing him now.

 

And Jon knows she is because he smirks a little. “Of course I do, but I’m not even going to think about it until you tell me that I can.”

 

Sansa leans in then and gives him a soft kiss on his lips. “This is all I’m ready to do right now.”

 

Jon kisses her again – just as soft. “Then that’s all we’ll do until we’re _both_ ready for more.”

 

The knot completely loosens in her stomach at that, but her heart continues beating quickly – just from being around him and smelling his scent and feeling his lips on hers – so gentle and soft, it almost makes her want to cry because everything about tonight has been gentle and soft and there’s still such a huge part of herself that is not used to things in her life being either of those things.

 

“I love you, Sansa, and I’m not going anywhere,” Jon murmurs quietly to her, his lips just a hairsbreadth away from hers.

 

“I love you, too,” she whispers back, her eyes slowly opening to look directly into his.

 

“I want to give you your present,” he then says and pulls back enough to reach under the seat and pull out the paper bag.

 

Sansa remains sitting as close to him as she can and she gently reaches into the bag. It’s another record.

 

“Jon,” she gasps once she pulls it out and sees what it is.

 

 _The White Album_.

 

Her eyes fly to Jon, asking a thousand questions without being able to voice a single one.

 

“I know Grenn back from school and I gave him a call a couple of months ago, asking him to keep an eye out and give me a heads up if anyone brought in any Beatles records to sell,” he explains though in Sansa’s opinion, that still doesn’t explain _anything_.

 

Even when it comes to used records, the Beatles’ _White Album_ can run on the bit more expensive side of things and it had been her crown jewel of her previous collection. _Rubber Soul_ or _A Hard Day’s Nights_ are probably her favorites when it comes to the band’s albums, but _The White Album_ – even non-Beatles fans know – is just something special.

 

Sansa doesn’t even know what to say. There’s almost too much to say and yet, she can’t seem to find a voice to put any of it into words.

 

She stares down at the record and then turns her head, looking to Jon. He gives her the barest twitch of his lips and his thumb gently moves across her cheek. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until Jon brushes the tear away. Still without saying a word, Sansa moves her head in and kisses him.

 

She’s not sure how long it is, but she finally goes inside, Jon sitting in the driveway until she’s unlocked the front door and she turns to give him a smile and a wave, the record hugged tightly to her chest.

 

Margaery gives her the rundown of the evening: countless episodes of _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ and some puzzles and another attempt at the memory game and he went to sleep around eight without an issue. Sansa can’t thank Margaery enough, but Margaery just waves her off as she puts her coat on.

 

“I’m going to pretend that you’re not doing that right now,” Margaery informs her as Sansa begins opening her purse to pull her wallet out. Margaery leans in and gives Sansa a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she then promises.

 

“Margaery-” Sansa tries to protest.

 

“Good night,” Margaery parts and before Sansa can push any type of money in her hand, Margaery has practically flown out the door and closes it behind her once more.

 

Sansa sighs and hopes she can try giving some money to Robb and he can get Margaery to take it.

 

She carefully sets the record down on the coffee table and then goes to hang her coat up in the closet. She lets Lady out into the backyard one time for the night and then goes into Brandon’s room. Sure enough, he is sleeping peacefully and deeply in his crib and Sansa watches him for a moment, running a gentle hand down his back.

 

In her bedroom, she changes from her dress, hanging it up again – along with the other dresses still strewn around her bed – and puts her heels away and she changes into her warm fleece pajamas.

 

“Mama?” Brandon’s quiet voice calls out just as she has pulled warm socks onto her feet.

 

Sansa hurries back into his room. “Hi, sweetling,” she smiles as she sees Brandon standing up in his crib and he smiles when he sees her. He holds his arms out and Sansa lifts him up. “You should be asleep.”

 

Brandon nods, even as he rests his head sleepily on her shoulder.

 

Sansa admits that she really doesn’t want to put him back down so instead, she carries him out into the living room. Lady is at the back patio door and Sansa goes to let her in, locking all of the doors again – checking and double-checking the locks and setting the alarm system. She then holds Brandon with one arm and takes the record from the coffee table.

 

“Would you like to listen to something very special?” Sansa asks and Brandon nods, quiet.

 

With one hand, moving as careful as she possibly can, she slides the record from the sleeve and places it on the record’s turntable. She finds the groove of the song she wants and then as the familiar song begins to play, she settles down on the floor in front of the record player and Brandon sits in her lap, resting his head against her chest, falling back asleep. Sansa smiles as Lady flops down on the floor as well, next to Sansa’s side.

 

Sansa begins to sing along softly to the song as she runs gentle fingers through Brandon’s hair.

 

  _I look at you all,_

_See the love there that’s sleeping,_

_While my guitar gently weeps._

_I look at the floor,_

_And I see it needs sweeping._

_Still my guitar gently weeps._

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we are going to have a therapy session and a warning now. Sansa is going to be telling Brienne about some of Ramsay's abuse and it won't be pretty to read. There will also be running with Rickon and a Stark family dinner. Thank you for reading and I figured we needed one more chapter of fluff!


	22. Twenty-One

…

 

**Twenty-One.**

“You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready,” Dr. Tarth tells her in a voice so gentle, it nearly makes Sansa want to start weeping right then and there.

 

Instead, she exhales a shaky breath and looks down to her lap, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “Isn’t that why I’m here though? To talk about it?” Sansa asks, not looking at the woman across from her.

 

“We can talk about anything you want to talk about, Sansa,” Dr. Tarth says and her voice is still so gentle; as if she understands _everything_ that is in Sansa’s head right now and Sansa hasn’t even started crying – not yet – but she leans forward and takes a tissue from the box that is on the coffee table in front of her.

 

“Ramsay… the father of my son,” Sansa begins even though she hates thinking of Ramsay like that. “He used to… he used to tie me to the bed, my arms and legs spread out, and he said it reminded him of a snow angel.”

 

Sansa takes a shaky breath and Brienne remains silent as she listens.

 

“A few months ago, my sister, Arya was in the backyard with my son, Brandon, and she was showing him how to make snow angels. My dad found me on the floor in the kitchen, having a panic attack.” Sansa swallows. “Everyone always wonders why women stay with men who treat them like… like they’re…”

 

“Nothing?” Brienne offers and Sansa nods, her eyes still focused to her lap. “Why do you think you stayed with Ramsay?” She asks.

 

Sansa shrugs her shoulders as if she doesn’t know, but she does. “He made me believe that he was all I had,” she whispers, still hating herself and so shamed that she had ever believed that.

 

“Abusers are master manipulators to their victims,” Brienne says. “And it’s very easy for people who have _never_ been in an abusive relationship to pass judgment and think it would be so easy for them to leave if they, personally, were ever in that type of situation.”

 

“He started off so sweet,” Sansa says and she feels like laughing at that. “I was _such_ a stupid girl. So stupid. I just… I just wanted someone to love me.” And she is so ashamed of that, she winds up whispering that.

 

“That’s what everyone wants, Sansa,” Brienne tells her gently and the first of the tears leak from Sansa’s eyes and stream down her cheeks. “There’s no shame in wanting to be loved-”

 

“He would take the hottest candle wax and when I was tied down, he would pour it on me,” Sansa cuts in and her fingers begin to slowly tear the tissue in her hands. “I learned not to scream because when I screamed, he would…” she swallows thickly. “He would laugh and just pour more. He _loved_ when I screamed and it became a game to him. What could he do to me that would make me scream?”

 

Brienne is completely silent and Sansa almost lifts her eyes to see if the doctor is still listening, but Sansa knows that she is. She keeps her eyes cast downwards, not wanting to see the other woman’s expression. What would it be? Disgust? Confusion? Frustration that Sansa had stood for this treatment for so long? Despite what Brienne had just told her, she is still a woman and what kind of woman would willingly stay in a relationship like this? How hard is it for Brienne the woman – and not Brienne the therapist – to not pass judgment on her?

 

Sansa doesn’t blame her if she does.

 

She pushes forward.

 

It’s best if she gets this out now. Sansa wonders if a therapist can refuse to see a patient any longer if that patient makes them so disgusted.

 

“He didn’t always tie me down and _that_ became a game, too,” Sansa goes on. “He had a tiny knife and he would cut at my skin. Some cuts were just little slashes, but others…” she swallows again and the tissue in her hands is now completely shredded. “He would… I would lie there and he would try to get me to scream or squirm and if I did…”

 

Sansa closes her eyes and tries to focus on her breathing rather than crying because she knows that if she starts crying now, she can’t imagine herself ever being able to stop.

 

“Sansa-” Brienne begins to say.

 

“And I actually could still have an orgasm,” Sansa cuts in and she clenches her eyes shut as she clenches her fists so tightly in her lap, her nails dig half-moons into her palms. “He was… Ramsay _tortured_ me and I still could…” she stops herself then, her voice catching, her breath exhaling in a sharp gasp.

 

“Sansa,” Brienne says her name again, still as gentle as always, and it just makes Sansa want to scream.

 

Why talk to her like that? Why talk to her like she’s someone who deserves gentle?

 

“There have been more studies and doctors have found that it happens more times than they had ever previously thought. When women are raped, some have an orgasm. Does that mean they weren’t actually raped?” Brienne asks.

 

Sansa stills at that and she lifts her eyes – finally – to look at the woman across from her. After a moment, Sansa swallows and shakes her head. “That’s completely different-”

 

“Is it?” Brienne wonders. “How?”

 

“I…” she trails off then, not sure what to say.

 

“When Ramsay tied you down, when he didn’t, when he did all of those things to hurt you, did you want him to do those things to you?” Brienne asks, leaning forward in her seat.

 

“Of course not,” Sansa whispers and she rubs her hands roughly across her cheeks, wiping her tears.

 

“He raped you, Sansa,” Brienne then states and the words slam into Sansa’s chest because even though she has always known that, she has actually never said those thoughts out loud to anyone before. “If you said no to him even once, and he kept doing what he did, it was rape.”

 

Sansa shakes her head so rapidly, a few strands of hair loosen from her braid. Her heart is pounding in her chest so quickly, she can actually feel it crashing into her sternum and it hurts. Her heart beating is actually psychically hurting her and she almost rubs her hand over her chest as if she has heartburn.

 

“I didn’t leave though. I stayed with him,” she whispers.

 

“Why did you stay?” Brienne asks. “Do you know? Can you say?”

 

Sansa gets to her feet so suddenly, Brienne’s eyes widen momentarily in surprise and then she stands, too.

 

“I have to go,” Sansa says quickly, her eyes flying to the door, but her feet seem to be stuck to the floor and she can’t seem to actually physically get herself to leave the office.

 

“Sansa, we still have time and you’re doing so well. Just a little bit longer,” Brienne says in that same gentle, calm tone and Sansa wants to just grab her own hair and scream from that tone. “Why did you stay with Ramsay?”

 

“Because no one else wanted me,” Sansa whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Ramsay was from the North. My parents had always said they wanted me to find a boy from the North and he knew that because I told him. Ramsay told me that he was the best that I would ever be able to do and I…” she gasps as if she can’t get enough air.

 

“You believed him,” Brienne finishes correctly for her.

 

Sansa sinks slowly back down on the couch and she is crying so hard now, her entire body is shaking. She feels Brienne sit down beside her and the woman’s arm is around her shoulders and Sansa cannot stop crying. Brienne is saying words to her, but Sansa can’t hear her over the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears.

 

Ramsay had tortured her – mentally and physically – and Sansa hadn’t been strong enough to leave. She had been too stupid to see past his lies and his empty words. She was a weak, stupid girl who allowed all of that to happen to her. She could have left. She could have stopped him from doing those things to her.

 

…right?

 

Sansa closes her eyes and digs the heels of her hands into them as she jabs her elbows onto her knees. She must have wanted all of those things to happen to her if she had stayed and allowed them to happen. It doesn’t matter what Brienne says. Yes, Ramsay had manipulated her into thinking certain things, but it still all comes down to her being too stupid and too weak to have been able to stop any of it. Ramsay had taken one look at her all of those years ago and knew that she was stupid and weak and would be easy for her to use. She should have been able to stop all of it.

 

She thinks of Arya and of her mother. Sansa can never imagine her sister or mother ever being abused like that by any man and that is because they are the strongest women Sansa knows. Not like her.

 

“Sansa do you know where Ramsay is now?” Brienne’s question breaks through and Sansa hears her now.

 

She shakes her head and keeps her eyes closed. “I sometimes think I see him, but whenever I tell my parents, they always assure me that he’s not here. But I… even after everything he did, I still don’t think my parents realize how dangerous he can be. If he wants to come after me and Brandon, he will and no one can stop him.”

 

“Have you ever asked your parents why they are so certain that Ramsay isn’t here when you think you see him?”

 

Again, Sansa shakes her head. “I…” she begins, but then stops to swallow. “I haven’t. I… I trust them that if they say he’s not around… I trust them,” she whispers. She lifts her head and turns to look at Brienne beside her. “Should I not trust them?” She asks then, almost fearful that that’s what Dr. Tarth is suggesting.

 

If she can’t trust her family, who on earth _can_ she trust? There’s no one else left.

 

“I’m not saying that,” Brienne assures her and Sansa is almost taken aback at the relief she feels from that. “But I do think it’s important that you know. Don’t you? Don’t you want to know why they are certain Ramsay isn’t around?”

 

Sansa thinks that over quietly for a moment before nodding her head – just once, but it’s a firm nod. Yes, she has wondered – often.

 

“How is your relationship with your parents, Sansa?” Brienne asks her – rather suddenly.

 

“They saved my life,” Sansa replies quietly.

 

“I thought you were the one to leave Ramsay.”

 

Sansa blinks at her as if she doesn’t understand. “I was,” she says slowly; almost unsurely.

 

“Well, then, _you_ were the one to save your life.”

 

…

 

Sansa smiles faintly as she stands at her cutting table, working one of the sleeves and listening to Brandon, playing in the kitchen and chattering to himself. The sliding door between the kitchen and the sunroom are open and while Sansa is working in the sunroom, Brandon has decided that he will set his train set out on the floor in the kitchen, weaving the tracks around table legs and beneath chairs.

 

“Brandon, would you come here?” Sansa calls out.

 

Brandon pushes himself to his feet and comes hurrying into the room. Sansa smiles and kneels down in front of him.

 

“I just want to see how this fits,” Sansa says and Brandon holds out his arm without him needing to tell her to do so; not the first time his mama has needed to fits clothes on his body.

 

Sansa smiles and wraps the black wool material around his arm and begins fitting it, making chalk markings to get his correct measurements. Just as soon as she has his measurements all memorized, Brandon decides to grow again.

 

“There,” Sansa declares once she has it fitted. “What do you think of it?”

 

Brandon rubs his hand along the sleeve wrapped around his arm. “Scratchy,” he decides.

 

Sansa smiles and nods. “It is, but it’s warm. And look.” She gently removes the sleeve from his arm and then tucks the cuff back so he can see. “I’m lining the inside with a soft cotton so the wool won’t scratch you.”

 

“Black!” Brandon exclaims.

 

“And yes, the entire thing is black,” Sansa promises with a laugh.

 

The doorbell rings then, echoing throughout the house, and Lady, lying on the kitchen floor, scrambles to her feet and begins barking, running to the front door. Brandon turns to go scampering off after her and Sansa stands, carefully setting the sleeve down on the table before following after them both, glancing at the clock on the stove as she passes. It’s a few minutes after six and she knows it is Jon.

 

She hasn’t told him that he is in therapy – she still hasn’t told anyone – but she had asked him the day before if he would like to come over for dinner on Friday night and she should be home by five-thirty if he’d be able to come. Jon had been rather eager to accept the invitation.

 

Sansa checks the peephole and sees that it’s him. She disarms the alarm and then unlocks the door, pulling it open.

 

“Jon!” Brandon exclaims happily and Lady stops barking when she sees that it’s him.

 

“Hey, Little Stark,” Jon smiles at them through the screen door.

 

After the therapy session that evening with Dr. Tarth, she had felt completely drained and exhausted, but since being home with Brandon, and now, seeing Jon, Sansa feels almost _normal_ again. Whatever normal is supposed to be like.

 

Sansa smiles as she unlocks the screen door and pushes it open for him. Jon steps inside, his eyes set on her.

 

“Hi,” he greets in that low voice of his.

 

“Hi,” she greets back and with a hand on her hip, Jon leans in then and gives her a kiss on her lips that leaves her slightly surprised, her insides surging upwards.

 

“Hi, Jon!” Brandon exclaims, not even seeming to blink an eye at Jon and his mama kissing. “You play trains!”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Jon smiles down at the little boy.

 

“You didn’t bring Ghost?” Sansa questions as she closes and locks the doors once again, setting the alarm.

 

“He was with me all today on a job site and I didn’t know if you would want him over,” Jon admits as he unzips his coat and shrugs it off.

 

“Ghost is always welcome, Jon,” Sansa says. Instead of hanging his coat up, she drapes it over the back of the couch. “Does chili and cornbread for dinner sound good?” She then asks.

 

“Sounds perfect,” Jon gives her a small smile and leans in again. His hands slide over her hips and this time, Sansa is ready, lifting her hands to his cheeks and kissing him in return. Jon pulls his head back and looks to her face, smiling faintly, and she wonders what he sees because it fades ever so slightly. “Are you alright?” He asks quietly.

  
Sansa looks at him and for a moment, she almost – _almost_ – tells him about the therapy session earlier that evening.

 

But she’s not ready to. Her mind is still processing everything that she had said and revealed to Dr. Tarth and what Dr. Tarth had said to her in return and she needs more time before she’s ready to tell anyone about it.

 

“Just tired,” Sansa responds truthfully enough. “I’m glad it’s the weekend.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Jon agrees and leans in, giving her another kiss.

 

“I’m going running with Rickon tomorrow morning,” Sansa tells him.

 

Jon’s lips quirk into a slight smile. “I heard that rumor. Didn’t know if it was true or not.”

 

“Unfortunately, it’s true,” Sansa says with the slightest of laughter in her tone. “I’m sure it will be a disaster.”

 

Jon’s hand was still on her hip and gave it the slightest squeeze. “I think you can do anything.”

 

They go into the kitchen, Brandon back on the floor with his trains and train tracks and Jon sits with him. Sansa goes to the crock pot, checking on the chili, figuring it needs a few more minutes before she looks to Jon and Brandon, playing, Brandon telling Jon what to do with the train engine the boy is pushing into his hands. Sansa smiles and it’s amazing to her that just an hour before, it could hurt to breathe, but now, she is smiling and feeling a warmth inside that can only come from being completely happy.

 

Sansa finally leaves the kitchen to go back into the sunroom where she begins working on the second sleeve for Brandon’s sweater. She still has to measure Jon for his own sweater and pants, but she can admit to herself that she’s holding that off for as long as she can. She can’t even think of doing that with Jon right now without blushing and that shows to her that while yes, she can kiss him and tell him that she loves him, she can’t possibly take a measuring tape to all over his body. She can’t even think of _inseam_ without wanting to burst into flames.

 

“Percy goes here!” Brandon is telling Jon excitedly, arranging the train cars in the order in which he prefers.

 

“Ah, I see,” Jon nods as if he sees perfectly and Sansa bites down on her lip to keep from laughing as she cuts.

 

She should have talked with Dr. Tarth about this; about how happy she is beginning to finally feel in her life in moments like this. Quiet moments with her son and Jon and Lady in her little home on a cold winter’s day. This is what she has always wanted her life to be and just had never known that it could possibly ever happen.

 

The doorbell rings again, startling them all, and Sansa lifts her head to look into the house, her brow furrowed. Lady barks again, taking off for the door, and Sansa moves her eyes to Jon, Jon already looking at her.

 

“Want me to see who it is?” Jon offers, handing Brandon his train engine and then getting to his feet.

 

Sansa pushes herself from leaning over her table and she shakes her head slightly. “I can check,” she says and she hopes that she sounds stronger than she actually feels in that moment.

 

Whenever the doorbell rings, she always gets nervous even though it’s always someone from her family. Still, there’s always that chance that maybe this time, it won’t be. There’s always that chance that maybe, this time, it will be Ramsay standing on her front porch, having finally found her, that grin on his face that makes her tremble and cower into a ball because whenever that grin is on his face, nothing good is going to happen to her.

 

She wonders, if she asks Jon, will he tell her what happened to Ramsay?

 

Sansa goes to the front door – aware of Jon standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, watching – and she takes a look through the peep hole.

 

_Oh, no_ , she instantly thinks. She has completely forgotten…

 

She disarms the alarm and holds Lady back with her foot as she unlocks the door. “Hi, Dickon,” she greets the man standing on her front porch, hoping that it’s not obvious that her smile is just a little forced.

 

“Hi, Sansa,” Dickon smiles easily in return. “I’ve brought the suit.” He holds up a garment bag.

 

“Great,” she says as she unlocks the screen door and then pulls Lady back so he can enter the house. “Um, the bathroom is right this way. You can get changed and then I’ll start…” she trails off when she sees Jon from the corner of her eye, still standing in the doorway between the two rooms. He’s not frowning or smiling. He’s just standing there, looking at Dickon, _staring_ at him, his jaw clenched so visibly, Sansa can see it from across the room, and Sansa hasn’t done anything wrong so why does she feel a nervous pit in her stomach as if she has? “Dickon, this is Jon Snow-”

 

“I remember,” Dickon says, still with that easy smile on his face. “Robb’s best friend.”

 

“And Sansa’s boyfriend,” Jon adds and Sansa looks at him at that, unable to keep from frowning a little.

 

“Bathroom is this way, Dickon,” Sansa says to the other man and leads him to the bathroom. “And then just come through the kitchen when you’re ready. My sewing room is out there.”

 

“Great,” Dickon smiles down at her. “Thank you for doing this, Sansa.”

 

“Of course,” Sansa says, smiling at him a little easier this time.

 

Once Dickon goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, Sansa turns and returns to the kitchen. Jon stands there, looking at her, so Sansa does the same – standing and staring at him. They are both quiet. The house is quiet. The only noise is actually Brandon underneath the kitchen table, chattering as he plays with his trains.

 

“Would you like to piss on me so Dickon knows you’ve marked your territory?” Sansa asks.

 

Jon smirks and shakes his head. “I wasn’t that bad.”

 

Sansa doesn’t smile though; not seeing anything to smile about. “I’m your girlfriend, but I don’t belong to you, Jon. I don’t belong to anyone.”

 

That gets him staring at her, his face still and serious. “I know you don’t, Sansa-”

 

“I already have one man’s name carved into me. I don’t need another’s.”

 

That gets Jon to go silent, obviously completely taken aback by that confession, and Sansa admits that she’s momentarily shocked as well that she has just said that to him.

 

“Sansa,” Jon takes a step closer to her, but then stops himself. Sansa remains standing where she is and when he sees that she isn’t stepping back, he closes the rest of the distance between them and wraps her up in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly in her hair.

 

After a moment, Sansa relaxes ever so slightly and slips one arm around his waist.

 

“Now that I have you in my life again, I can’t imagine losing you again,” he says.

 

Sansa pulls her head back and looks to his face. “I’m just tailoring Dickon’s suit. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that; just stares into Sansa’s eyes and she knows that he wants to say something more; something else to further explain himself, but he doesn’t say anything. He does what Jon does so well and stays silent. And Sansa _could_ push him to talk more, but honestly, after therapy earlier this evening and now Jon wanting to suddenly act possessive, she just feels too tired to try and pull words from his mouth.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me forever. A lot of rewriting certain parts. And I still don't know if I like the final product. I promised running and family dinner in this chapter, but the therapy and Dickon scene went longer than I planned so a few things have gotten pushed back to the next chapter. Thank you for reading and thank you so much to those commenting!


	23. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback chapter.

…

 

**Twenty-Two.**

Sansa wished the movies would stop lying to her.

 

They made car sex look _so_ easy and while it was perfectly fine, Sansa had thought it would be… not this. She and Jon fumbled, trying to find the perfect position. She understood why men liked having sex in cars. It had been easy enough for her to bend over and give Jon a blowjob, but for him to go down on her, that had been a bit more difficult. Even the backseat had been too cramped to really lie down comfortably and Jon to get between her legs.

 

“You want me from behind?” Jon asked once they had shed themselves of their clothes and were completely naked, side by side, in the backseat.

 

It was cold outside, of course, but inside the car, the windows were already steamed over and with Jon’s arm around her shoulders, holding her tucked into his side, his nose brushing along her temple, Sansa doubted that she would ever be cold again in her life.

 

Sansa shook her head at the question. She didn’t like that position. She and Jon had tried it once and she had decided that “doggy style” wasn’t for her. There was something about it. She didn’t tell Jon, but she found it demeaning. She was embarrassed for feeling that way about it because she knew it wasn’t supposed to make her feel like that and she didn’t want Jon to think she was weird for not liking it.

 

Jon’s thumb was brushing back and forth across her bare upper arm and Sansa nestled in closer to him, her arm across his stomach, hugging him with her cheek on his chest. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself, feeling completely safe and content in that moment, being with Jon, being in Jon’s arms. They were parked deep in the woods, hidden away, and with him in the backseat of his car, Sansa felt like they were the only ones left in the entire world. And if that was the truth, she would be perfectly happy with that.

 

“We could…” Jon began, but then trailed off again. “You could lay across the seat and I could kneel up between your thighs… what?” He wondered with a smile across his face when Sansa began to laugh.

 

She shook her head and then lifted it so she could look into his face. “I’m just thinking how easy the movies always make this look,” she said with a little laugh.

 

Jon’s smile widened to that beautiful grin of his that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. Jon Snow was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and the amount of butterflies this man could give her, it still astounded her.

 

“Same with shower sex,” Jon joked and then laughed as Sansa released a mixture of a groan and a laugh. “It hadn’t been _that_ bad,” he then said, his arm tightening around her, holding her as close as he could.

 

Sansa just gave him a look and he laughed again before pressing his lips to her forehead in a kiss.

 

She wasn’t entirely sure where the burst of bravery came from, but Sansa sat up and quite suddenly, she brought her leg over Jon’s lap and straddled him.

 

“Whoa,” Jon’s eyes widened, but then he smiled, looking up at her. Sansa bit down on her lip and smiled shyly. “You are so beautiful, Sansa,” he then whispered, his hands lifting to touch her face.

 

Sansa closed her eyes and tilted her face into one of his hands, her own hands dropping down to his bare chest.

 

As Jon continued just staring at her, her nipples tightened and her heart thumped in her chest. She had never felt this before; not until she and Jon began seeing one another and falling in love. But right now, this was more than love. This was pure need and _lust_ and want. She was so hot, already so wet, and there was an ache between her thighs. What was he doing to her? She had never even imagined acting like this and she had never felt this before.

 

Her eyes slid shut and she bit down on her lip as Jon leaned forward then and his mouth was warm and wet on her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple. She pressed her hips against his and she could feel his hardness already poking at her folds, begging to be granted entry. But Jon made no move to thrust up into her. Instead, he moved his mouth to her other neglected breast. His arms wound around her waist and he crushed their chests together as Sansa put her hands on his face and pulled his head up so she could kiss him, her tongue in his mouth, making him groan her name.

 

Sansa could feel him practically shaking beneath her and she knew neither of them could wait much longer.

 

“I don’t know how…” she trailed off then, embarrassed.

 

Jon kissed her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll show you.”

 

Sansa felt as if she was shaking as she adjusted herself over him and with one hand, she guided him towards her soaked folds. Jon’s lips were now kissing her throat as his hands rubbed her thighs and he was so warm and hard, Sansa closed her eyes as she slowly, began to lower herself.

 

She bit down on her lip as first, the swollen head pushed inside and then inch by inch, more and more of his cock entered her. Sansa moaned, biting down onto her lip harder and squeezing her eyes shut. Her hands clutched his shoulders and Jon’s hands curved around her hips, holding onto her, clenching his own jaw.

 

“You’re so tight, Sansa,” Jon murmured and Sansa tried to remember how to breathe as his cock stretched her, her walls gripping him like a wet vice. “Are you okay?” He asked, his hands rubbing her thighs and then snaking around to cup the cheeks of her bum. “Sansa?”

 

She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with concern. She swallowed and exhaled. “I’m okay,” she nodded. She noted how Jon looked relieved at that and she managed a small smile. “I just have to get used to it. It’s a different angle…”

 

She was nearly certain that this was how it felt to be skewered on something.

 

“Take your time,” Jon said softly, his hands caressing her skin.

 

Sansa didn’t want to take her time though. This felt painful and incredible at the same time and she just wanted more and if she didn’t try, she would never learn. So far, they had just done missionary or against the wall and that one time he was behind her. She knew there were other positions and she wanted to try them with Jon. She didn’t want him to get bored. He was older than her and it wasn’t as if he had _tons_ of experience, but he certainly had more than her and she knew that Jon already felt slight guilt from being with her and she didn’t want him to be bored as well.

 

Slowly, she lifted herself up, inch by inch, whimpering – listening to Jon groan softly – and then with the same excruciatingly slow speed, she brought herself back down, feeling him penetrating and parting her body again and she moaned out. Her fingers laced behind his neck, tangling in his curls, and she held onto him – she had to – as she began rocking against him.

 

As she did so, she watched Jon’s face; to try and see if he was enjoying this. He was trying to keep his eyes open, trying to watch her as she rode him slowly, she still trying to get comfortable and used to the position and angle. His hands gripped her hips and he clenched his jaw as he watched her. Sansa’s own eyes were becoming hooded and her lips were parted as she sighed and moaned and panted. The windows were completely fogged over now and the car was rocking slightly back and forth.

 

“I love you, Sansa,” he said, his fingers digging into her skin.

 

Sansa gave him the softest smile, her body beginning to tremble – and she didn’t know if it was from his words or from him buried inside of her – and she leaned into him, changing the angle as he slid into her, both moaning. Her hands found his cheeks and she kissed him, Jon’s hands lifting to her head, his fingers diving back into her damp red locks and pulling her in for another kiss; which she gave with a smile.

 

“I love you, too, Jon,” she whispered back.

 

 _And I’m going to marry you_ , she said to no one, but herself.

 

…


	24. Twenty-Three

…

 

**Chapter Twenty-Three.**

“Rickon!”

 

The shout echoes through the still-quiet morning air and it is answered by the laughter of her youngest brother.

 

Sansa stops and bends over, putting her hands on her knees and trying to catch her breath though honestly, it feels like she’ll never be able to breathe properly ever again. Why on earth did Rickon ever think that running might be good for her? And why on earth did she agree to do this with him? Her brother is a cross-country and track star. He’s going to be getting scholarship offers from colleges all over Westeros – not just in the North. Rickon runs. That’s what he does. And Sansa? Sansa is not a runner.

 

“Alright,” Rickon is standing in front of her now, Sansa still bent over and she can see his shoes. “Are you going to throw up?” He asks.

 

Sansa wants to snap some sarcastic response at him, but honestly, thinking of something to say is taking too much energy and she needs to conserve as much as possible.

 

“Lungs burning?” Rickon guesses. Sansa manages a nod. “It’s running in the cold. Your respiratory system will get used to it after a couple more times.”

 

That makes Sansa lift her head so she can look at him. “You expect me to do this again?”

 

“You will,” Rickon says with confidence. “You want to know what helps me?”

 

“ _Not_ running?” Sansa guesses and slowly stands up straight again.

 

“I sing in my head.”

 

Sansa hasn’t been expecting him to say that and she simply blinks at him, making him smile.

 

“Same song. Over and over again. Helps me keep a steady speed and something to concentrate on other than the burning in my lungs. Chance the Rapper. _Tap Dance_ ,” he then provides before she can ask and even when he tells her, she has no idea what that is. He reaches into the pocket of his running pants and pulls out his iPod. He holds out one of his ear buds and Sansa takes it, putting it into her ear as Rickon starts the song from the beginning.

 

It is a catchy beat and she listens for a moment before pulling the bud out and handing it back towards Rickon.

 

“Not really my taste,” she says with a slight shake of her head.

 

“No shit,” Rickon smirks a little, slipping the iPod and plugs back into his pocket. “It’s a song post-1980.”

 

Sansa pushes him in the shoulder for that comment and Rickon just laughs.

 

“Alright. See that stop sign?” Rickon points ahead to the stop sign on the corner a couple of blocks away. Sansa nods. “Let’s run to that stop sign. Nice and slow.”

 

Sansa looks at him for a moment and then releases a deep breath. “Okay,” she agrees.

 

They begin running again, side by side, and as Rickon had promised, they take it nice and slow. Sansa is certain that the speed is driving Rickon absolutely insane, but he doesn’t act like it is. He just keeps pace next to her and Sansa finds herself listening to the way he breathes. It is a little heavier, but it’s still far more steady than hers is right now.

 

“Good,” Rickon smiles once they reach the stop sign. He then looks around, jogging in place, so Sansa does the same as well. “See that pickup truck?” He points down another street and Sansa sees the yellow pickup truck – a bit hard to miss in the white snow. It’s, again, a couple blocks away. “We’ll run to it and then take a pause.”

 

Sansa nods and again, they take off, side-by-side at the same nice and slow pace.

 

“Is this driving you crazy? Going this slow?” Sansa finally brings herself to ask.

 

Rickon just shrugs. “I don’t mind. Just keep breathing. Try to breathe through your nose if you can.”

 

Sansa tries to do what he tells her. She supposes Rickon knows what he’s talking about – not just about running because _obviously_ he knows what he’s talking about – but about her respiratory system.

 

It can be almost shocking to a person who moves to the North and has never lived here before. They know it’s cold, but rarely are new inhabits actually prepared for it. There may not be snow on the ground all twelve months of the year, but it certainly is cold all twelve months of the year. The main crops of the farmers of the North are beets, potatoes, carrots and broccoli because all those vegetables grow the best in cold temperatures and the southern part of Westeros never has the desired weather to grow such things. Also, the ski and snowboard mountain resorts make a killing as to the more adventurous types who vacation in the North for ice fishing or winter camping.

 

Not to mention that there is so much _room_ in the North. There are more people living in a single city in the south than there is in all of the North. The people who live here tend to see themselves as much tougher than any others.

 

Running in the cold may hurt right now, but Rickon might be right. If she sticks with it, Sansa knows she’ll get used to it. She’s still unsure though if she actually wants to get used to it or not.

 

When she was younger, even before Jon, Sansa had thought about going down to King’s Landing when she was old enough to go to college. She had thought the south, especially King’s Landing, was so much glamorous than Wintertown or any place in the North. The city is the fashion capital of Westeros and it made perfect sense to younger Sansa that she would want to go there.

 

But things obviously happened and there were curves in her life’s path that she had never seen coming and now, Sansa is forever grateful that she never left. Her family is here and though they are stifling – to put it mildly – she never would have been able to make it far without them and she is glad to be raising her son in the North. She’s as much a Northerner as anyone. It’s in her blood. And it’s in her son’s blood, too.

 

Once they reach the pickup truck, Sansa thankfully stops and rests her hand over her side, where there is a slight cramp, and Rickon stops, not even out of breath. She almost hates him for that.

 

“Are you and Jon dating?” Rickon asks – rather suddenly and completely out-of-the-blue.

 

“Yes,” Sansa doesn’t hesitate in answering. Why hesitate?

 

“Good,” Rickon says and Sansa almost smiles, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He shrugs. “He makes you happy.”

 

“He makes me happy?” Sansa echoes as if she has never heard such a thing.

 

“Doesn’t he?” Rickon asks, looking at her closely.

 

Again, Sansa doesn’t hesitate in answering; not when she knows the answer without a doubt. “He does.”

 

“Good. Because you make him happy, too.”

 

“I do?”

 

Rickon rolls his eyes. “For fucks sake, Sansa,” he mutters and Sansa pushes him in the shoulder again. “He’s treating you right? Better than he did before?”

 

“How do you know about before?” Sansa asks. Jon had told her that he had told Robb and Arya about their secret relationship; about hiding Sansa in closets and doing his best to ignore her whenever they were in rooms with the other Starks around, but she’s surprised that Rickon knows anything about it.

 

“I listen,” Rickon explains simply. “Is he?”

 

“He is,” Sansa answers because even though, technically, she and Jon have not been dating that long this time, she already knows and _feels_ just how completely different this time around is with him.

 

She can’t really explain it – to herself and not to others – but it feels like, after all of these years, she and Jon are finally on the same page. Both know exactly what they want with the other and that is to be together. She has changed, of course, but so has he and they aren’t eighteen and twenty anymore. They are both adults now. She’s a mother. She’s in therapy. He’s in AA. Both have been through things. But they’re here – at the same time. After everything, they have found their way back and he knows she loves him and she knows he loves her.

 

“Good,” Rickon says with a single nod. “Alright. That’s enough of a break. See that house?” He points to a house a few more blocks away with a massive weirwood in the front yard.

 

“I thought we were done,” Sansa says, doing a quick stretch of her legs again.

 

“Why would you think that?” Rickon asks, looking at her as if perhaps she is crazy. “Let’s go. Time waits for no man,” he then recites.

 

“Time and _tide_ wait for no man,” Sansa corrects him.

 

“Are you sure?” Rickon’s brow furrows at that and they resume their slow jogging pace. “That doesn’t sound right.”

 

“It dates back to before 1295. Which of the two of us have actually read texts from that time period?” Sansa asks.

 

“You don’t know everything I’ve read, Sansa Snow,” he teases her and then laughs when she pushes him.

 

“Fine. What have you read?”

 

“Don’t be a snob. I read.”

 

“You still haven’t answered me though about _what_ you read.”

 

“I read stuff.”

 

“I hear stuff is a wonderfully educational thing to read,” Sansa quips.

 

“The Gods help your son if everything he reads has to be _educational_ ,” Rickon says the word with very thinly-veiled disgust. “You’re turning into mom yet.”

 

Sansa gasps. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

 

Rickon just laughs and takes off running at a faster pace.

 

“Rickon!” Sansa shouts after him and runs after him, trying to catch him, his laughter just fueling her forward.

 

…

 

“Did you kill her?” Arya demands the instant Rickon and Sansa come – _slowly_ – up the driveway of the Stark home.

 

“No,” Rickon replies at the same time Sansa says, “Yes.”

 

“Mom was getting ready to send a search party out for you two. You’ve been gone for hours,” Arya says and then taking Sansa’s arm from around Rickon’s shoulder, she loops it around her own and she helps Sansa up the rest of the way. “Jon!” She then calls out.

 

“We weren’t gone that long,” Rickon says. “Were we?”

 

“You wouldn’t stop!” Sansa exclaims at him. “You just kept pointing at different things and having us run to them!”

 

“You could have walked home at any time,” Rickon shrugs.

 

Sansa would have hit him if she isn’t feeling to completely exhausted. She wants nothing more than a steaming hot bubble bath right now.

 

The front door opens and Jon and Robb both appear on the front porch. The instant he sees her, Robb begins laughing and Jon hurries down the steps to meet Arya halfway up the walkway path that leads to the front door. Without a word, he scoops Sansa up into his arms to carry her. Sansa feels like she _would_ protest, but it feels so good to get off of her legs right now. She can only hope that Rickon never teaches anyone else a beginner’s course in running. Then again, Sansa has a feeling that he would have gone much easier on someone he isn’t related to.

 

“Where’s Brandon?” Sansa asks no one in particular.

 

“Dad and Brandon are both taking their late morning naps in the den,” Robb answers and then holds the storm door open for Jon to carry her through. “And mom has nearly gotten into her car three separate times to drive around the neighborhood, looking for you two.”

 

“Sheesh,” Rickon comments. “She never seems to care that much when I go off, running for hours.”

 

“You’re not Sansa,” Arya tells him as if he doesn’t know.

 

“You alright?” Jon asks Sansa in a low, quiet voice.

 

“If my legs were no longer attached to my body, you would tell me, right?” Sansa asks.

 

He smiles a little at her. “I would. But they’re looking as lovely as always, attached to your body.”

 

Sansa has no idea why – she would think she’d be too exhausted for it – but she finds herself blushing.

 

“Sansa!” Catelyn appears in the hallway and doesn’t even blink at Sansa still being in Jon’s arms. Catelyn steps to her and her hands go to her cheeks. “Frozen through. Rickon Stark,” she frowns at her youngest son.

 

“She could have walked home anytime!” He exclaims this time.

 

“I’m alright, mom,” Sansa gives Catelyn a small smile because surely, in a few hours – when she can feel all of her limbs again – she _will_ be alright.

 

“Well, I’m almost done with lunch and I’ll make you a big cup of hot chocolate,” Catelyn tells her.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says, as gracious-sounding as a person can possibly sound.

 

“Don’t I get hot chocolate?” Rickon asks.

 

“Did you try to kill your sister? Because brothers who try to kill their sisters do not deserves hot chocolate,” Catelyn asks in return.

 

“Can you take me upstairs?” Sansa asks Jon in a whisper and he nods, already stepping up the first one. Thankfully, the stairs are wide enough where he can carry her up without banging her head on the wall.

 

“What about sisters who try to kill their brothers? Because Arya-”

 

“Hey!” Arya cuts him off. “Leave me out of this. I already got _my_ hot chocolate.”

 

Sansa looks over Jon’s shoulder to see Rickon take off after Arya, Robb laughing as he presses himself against the wall to get out of their way.

 

“Children!” Catelyn shouts after them. “Your father and Brandon are trying to sleep!”

 

Jon smirks and Sansa giggles softly.

 

She looks at Jon’s face as he carries her upstairs and he is doing it so easily. She’s thankful that she can’t see the muscles in his arms right now. It’s best if she just focuses on one part of him at a time and right now, she chooses his face. He looks handsome as always. In her opinion, a man should not be allowed to look as handsome as Jon Snow. It’s actually quite ridiculous.

 

Before she can think to stop herself – but really, why should she stop – Sansa lifts a hand and brushes one of his black curls back from his temple and Jon turns her head to look at her once she does, giving her the faintest smile. Sansa smiles faintly at him in return.

 

Jon stops on the second floor landing. “Where to?”

 

Sansa almost tells him to take her into the bedroom and she’ll get herself ready for her bath. “The bathroom?” She says, still sounding a bit unsure, but she doesn’t look away from his face, and Jon looks at her for a moment as if to make sure that she really means that and then with a slight nod, he finishes carrying her down the hallway and into the bathroom. Sansa flicks the switch on the wall and Jon slowly bends over and gently puts her back on her feet.

 

Still feeling slightly unsteady though, the warmth beginning to return to her legs, Sansa turns and slips her arms around Jon’s shoulders, holding onto him, and Jon’s arms are instantly there, winding around her waist, holding her.

 

She looks at his face – into his eyes – and Jon looks right back.

 

“Rickon asked if you’re treating me right,” Sansa tells him – softly as if telling him a secret.

 

Jon doesn’t look surprised in the least by that. She wonders if everyone in her family has asked him that.

 

“And am I treating you right?” Jon asks and she can feel one of his hands on her back, slowly moving upwards.

 

“So far, so good,” she gives him a faint smile.

 

“And you’ll tell me?” Jon pauses and swallows. “You’ll tell me if that ever changes?”

 

“I will,” Sansa nods. “And you’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like or aren’t happy with?”

 

That makes him smirk a little. “I can’t imagine never _not_ being happy with you.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes at that and then pinches him lightly on the back of his neck. That makes Jon smile. “Promise you’ll tell me.”

 

“I promise,” Jon says, his face solemn again as he stares into her eyes.

 

She wonders if he’s going to kiss her. He certainly looks like he’s going to kiss her, but Sansa also knows that he won’t. He won’t make the first move – not unless he’s absolutely positive that it’s a move she wants him to make. And she doesn’t think she can even explain how much that means to her. Yes, there’s a passion to it that makes her heart stutter when he used to grab her and kiss her, but then… well, then _everything_ happened and changed and she loves Jon for knowing that and knowing that she has to be the one – at least for know – who has to make the moves.

 

“At Rickon’s cross country meet, when you kissed me…” she begins.

 

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that,” Jon shakes his head, lowering his eyes from her, ashamed.

 

Sansa places a hand on his face, her thumb swiping across his cheek, and Jon looks to her again. Without a word, a soft smile across her lips, she leans her face in then, closer to his, but then stops as her nose brushes against his.

 

“At Rickon’s cross country meet, I told you that I wasn’t ready for you to kiss me again,” she continues. “And I’ve kissed you since and you’ve kissed me, too.”

 

“Yes,” Jon says, watching her, their noses still touching, and he openly wonders where she is going with this.

 

“I’m going to close my eyes,” Sansa says. “And don’t tell me when you’re going to, but I want you to kiss me.”

 

She looks to him to make sure that that’s alright with him and Jon doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are slightly darker now and she knows that he’s more than alright with it. Sansa gives him a small smile and then her eyes flutter shut. She keeps them shut and she waits. She expects Jon to kiss her right away, but he doesn’t. She can feel his warm breath across her face and she imagines that he’s looking at her face. She almost opens her eyes again so she can look into his face, but she keeps her eyes closed. She feels her heart start to pick up in speed with anticipation.

 

And then, Jon’s lips brush across her lips – so light, it’s like a feather landing on snow – and her arms tighten around his shoulders, her legs feeling weak beneath her all over again. Jon’s lips brush again across her lips once more and then for a third time. She wonders if his heart is racing as fast as hers, but she doesn’t dare ask him that because if she speaks now, it will break through the warm fog that is hanging around her head and the fog – and Jon – is so lovely, she’s nowhere near ready to leave it.

 

Jon kisses her then, his lips pressing onto hers, tilting his head to slant his mouth over hers, and Sansa opens her mouth in response. She’s not sure who moans the first time their tongues touch – maybe it’s both of them – and Jon’s arms tighten around her waist, keeping their bodies pressed together, but Sansa still tries to step into him as if there’s more inches between them that can be closed.

 

She has no idea how long they kiss. A minute. An hour. She has no idea and no one calls up the stairs for them. She expects to hear Brandon at any second, but it seems like the house is completely silent. Or maybe she just can’t hear anything at this moment; she can hear or feel or smell nothing except Jon.

 

She knows he doesn’t mean anything by it. She knows the way the kiss is deepening between them, it’s almost natural for Jon’s hand to slip down and have his fingertips begin to creep up her insulated running shirt. She knows that he’s probably not even thinking about it, but Sansa stiffens the instant she feels his warm, rough fingertips on the bare skin at the small of her back and she pulls her head back away from his.

 

Jon rips his hands away. “Shit,” he gasps. “Shit, Sansa, shit.” He can’t seem to say anything else. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sansa. I didn’t mean-”

 

Sansa shakes her head and cuts him off. “It’s okay,” she tells him.

 

“No, it’s not,” he shakes his head, but Sansa puts her hands on his shoulders and he looks at her.

 

“I’m doing it for you as much as for me,” she then says. Jon’s brow furrows at that. “If you see my body now, you’ll never want to see me again.”

 

Jon frowns deeply. “That’s not possible, Sansa.”

 

She looks at him for a moment and then finally turns away, heading towards the bathtub to begin drawing herself a steaming hot bath. She doesn’t respond to Jon. There’s no point in telling him how wrong he is. He has no idea and no matter how wonderful he is to her or how much they love each other, Sansa knows that there’s one thing that can ruin all of that. And right now, she’s happy and she doesn’t want anything – not her scars on the both inside and outside – to take that away from her.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brandon's birthday party will be in the next chapter and I'm just going to say this now. Tormund's friendship with Sansa is wonderful and I will be writing some of it in the next chapter as well.


	25. Sansa is a Pinterest Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Brandon's Pirate Birthday Party.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/37926124334/in/photostream/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/38611138322/in/photostream/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/38611136772/in/photostream/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/38611136692/in/photostream/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/37756102895/in/photostream/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/37756102675/in/photostream/)


	26. Twenty-Four

…

 

**Chapter Twenty-Four.**

“You’re so good at this,” Arya comments as Sansa – as carefully and slowly as she can – finishes inserting the pirate sails into the chocolate with chocolate buttercream frosting shaped like a pirate ship birthday cake. “How did you get so good at this?”

 

Sansa smiles a little and shrugs. “It’s important to me to be good at this.” She takes a step back so she can look at the cake in its entirety. “Does it look alright?” She then asks her sister, looking to Arya standing at her side.

 

Arya smirks a little, but when she turns her head to look at Sansa, she gives her an actual smile. “Pinterest worthy.”

 

That, to Sansa, is the ultimate compliment. After all, her son only turns three once.

 

She had planned on having Brandon’s birthday party at her house, but she soon realized that everything she had planned for the day, there just wasn’t enough space – unfortunately. Her parents, of course, were more than happy to volunteer their house for the afternoon celebration since Brandon’s two previous birthdays have been celebrated here as well. And she’s forever grateful for her parents, but Sansa is already hoping that for Brandon’s next birthday, she’ll be able to have it in her own home. She feels her son should have his birthday in their home.

 

Sansa looks to the rest of the counter that is slowly being filled with the food as she finishes preparing it. Cannon Balls – meatballs simmering in the crock pot – Peg Legs – corndogs – and Catch of the Day – hamburgers, which her father will grill. Golden Seashells is Mac and cheese and seaweed is salad. Pirate Jewels are fresh fruit, Polly’s Crackers are obviously crackers and Pirate’s Gold are the cut cheese to go with them. And then, of course, there is the pirate ship birthday cake. Each food dish has their pirate sign displayed in front of them and Sansa makes sure she has everything.

 

She’s not entirely sure why she’s feeling as nervous as she is. Perhaps, it’s because this is the first birthday where Brandon is aware of what a birthday is and that today is _his_ birthday and Sansa wants everything to be just perfect.

 

“Everything is awesome, Sansa,” Arya says then, clearly able to read her mind. Sansa manages a small smile and though she’s grateful for her sister’s words, she still feels a tightness in her stomach. “Can you help me with my scarf?” Arya then asks and Sansa nods as Arya turns her back to her.

 

Sansa is wearing black skinny jeans and Jon’s grey sweater – that is now hers – for the party. She also has a red scarf over her head, tied back like a pirate would knot it. She helps Arya now with her own scarf.

 

“I hope that if – and it’s a very big _if_ – me and Gendry ever have kids, I’ll be a mom like you,” Arya suddenly speaks and Sansa’s hands go still. Her entire body goes completely still. Arya glances at her from over her shoulder. “Don’t get emotional, Sansa,” Arya then advises.

 

Sansa lets out a choked laugh. “How can I _not_ get emotional when you say things like that to me?”

 

Arya just smiles a little, rolling her eyes as if she can’t possibly understand why her words would have such a reaction on Sansa, and Sansa thinks of something – _anything_ – to say though words are completely failing her right now.

 

When they were younger, she and Arya couldn’t stand one another – and that is putting it mildly. They were just too different. Arya wanted to play rough and throw herself in the mud right along with the boys. Sansa preferred focusing on her sewing and baking skills and _staying clean_. But as they got older – especially after Ramsay and after Sansa came home – Arya had become not just her sister, but her closest friend; after her mother. These past few years, Sansa honestly doesn’t know what she would do without having Arya at her side. And the idea that Arya would want to be _anything_ like her, it’s nearly unbelievable to her, to say the least.

 

Sansa opens her mouth, but before she can tell her any of that though, both hear the familiar pattering of feet and then Brandon – fresh from his nap – bursts into the kitchen.

 

“Yo, ho, ho!” He exclaims and Sansa laughs and Arya grins.

 

Sansa leaves Arya – having finished tying her scarf back – and goes to scoop Brandon up in her arms.

 

She is _not_ going to think of how much sooner rather than later, her baby boy will be too big to hold like this. She kisses his cheek and Brandon looks past her, his eyes growing wide as he sees his cake on the counter. He gasps, clasping his hands together.

 

“Do you like it?” She asks him as she carries him towards it so he can get a closer look.

 

“Perfect!” Brandon exclaims and then wraps his arms around her neck, squeezing her in a toddler-strong hug. Sansa blinks quickly to keep the tears at bay as she squeezes him back.

 

She has made a strict promise with herself that she is not going to cry today.

 

“Alright,” Robb announces as he, Rickon and Ned all come up from the basement. “It’s all set up.”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa tells them graciously.

 

“Looks like Pinterest threw up down there,” Rickon quips as he helps himself to one of Polly’s Crackers.

 

“I think it looks perfect, if I do say so myself,” Robb says, also helping himself to some of the cheese and crackers. “I could go into business. Setting up kids’ birthday parties. I have a touch for it.”

 

“You’ve got a touch for something, that’s for sure,” Arya replies.

 

“I don’t even know what you’re getting at, but I’m offended,” Robb informs her.

 

Both Robb and Rickon seem to catch sight of the cake at the same time – though it’s hard to miss – and they freeze, their cheeks puffed out like chipmunks with their food.

 

“ _Don’t_ even think about it,” Sansa tells her brothers sternly. “Arya, protect that cake.”

 

“On it,” Arya says and pulls out the foam sword she is wearing on her hip, pointing it at Robb and Rickon.

 

“Not fair! We’re not armed!” Rickon shouts at her as he and Robb run off for the den, Arya running after them, and Brandon giggles as Sansa looks to him and smiles.

 

“Would you like to see your party, sweetling?” Sansa asks, already heading towards the basement stairs.

 

“Yes!” Brandon exclaims.

 

“You want me to carry him?” Ned asks, standing at the stairs, waiting for them.

 

“I got him,” Sansa gives him a smile.

 

In all honesty, she doesn’t want Brandon to leave her arms just yet.

 

There are only going to be two children Brandon’s age at the party that afternoon – friends from daycare – and there are going to be far more adults, but there’s no reason there can’t be games. And actually, with the lot coming today, Sansa suspects that most will want to play the games, too.

 

She has the Cannonball Toss – black balloons filled with water that the children can pass back and forth to one another, trying not to drop them. She has Ring around the Sword – plastic hoops that the children can try and toss over a sword. There is Pin the Patch on the Pirate – a portrait of a pirate on the wall and the children will be blindfolded and then try to stick a black patch on the pirate’s eye. And then, there is Walk the Plank – a wide piece of wood across a “pool” of blue filled with stuffed alligators.

 

Sansa knows she has probably gone completely overboard for a mere third birthday, but she doesn’t care. Brandon had wanted a pirate birthday party and that is exactly what she has given him.

 

At the bottom of the stairs, Sansa and Brandon look and both gasp at the same time. Ned, Robb and Rickon have placed tarps down everywhere over the basement carpet so if a “cannonball” explodes, there won’t be water everywhere. And everything else, they have set it up just as Sansa has imagined.

 

Now, Sansa blinks as quickly as she can so she doesn’t start crying, but it all looks just so wonderful and _perfect_ and honestly, who can blame her for wanting to start crying at the sight of it?

 

Sansa turns towards Ned, who is standing there, watching them both for their reactions, and without a word, Sansa goes to him and shifting Brandon to one arm, resting him on her hip, she slips her other around Ned’s waist. Ned smiles and wraps his arms around both Sansa and Ned.

 

“Thank you so, so much, dad,” Sansa whispers.

 

“Thank you, granpa!” Brandon exclaims and Ned chuckles, giving them both kisses on the head.

 

“You are very welcome,” Ned says. “Happy birthday, Brandon,” he kisses Brandon’s head again and Brandon beams and Ned hugs Sansa to him tightly.

 

_DING! DONG!_

Brandon gasps again and Sansa smiles at him.

 

“Let’s go see who our first party guest is, shall we?” Ned suggests.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath.

 

She hopes, as the afternoon moves on, she’ll stop being so nervous. Brandon loves everything he is seeing. He’s already so happy with his party and it hasn’t even started. There’s no reason she should wish for it to be perfect. Nothing is perfect. But the way Brandon is beaming and gasping at everything he sees and no matter what happens today, Brandon is so happy and that’s the only thing that matters to Sansa.

 

…

 

The two children from the daycare that Brandon (Sansa) has invited for his party – Alaric and Victoria – have both come, Alaric’s father and Victoria’s mother coming with them.  Then there are her parents and her siblings. Gendry has come with Arya and Meera has come with Bran. Margaery has received her own invitation, but Sansa has a feeling that Robb has taken it upon himself to invite her as well. Sansa has also invited Tormund, Edd and Val because from between the library and her sunroom, she has gotten to know both Edd and Val and like them both and she actually considers Tormund to be one of her closest friends. She had invited Nan as well, but Nan had other previous family commitments, but she has promised she will be bringing Brandon’s present to work on Monday.

 

The only one missing is Jon.

 

 _Is everything okay_? She texts him as Ned has brought in the hamburgers from the grill and everyone begins helping themselves to the food.

 

Sansa slips her phone into her back pocket and then proceeds to fill the children’s’ plates with corndogs and Mac and cheese. She has set up a little table for the three children and all three are wearing matching eye patches and pirate hats.

 

All three are trying to do the best pirate growl. “ARRRR!”

 

Each is louder than the last and Victoria’s mother has begun recording them with her phone.

 

Sansa feels her own phone vibrate and after making sure the three children have everything they need, and the adults do as well, she steps aside and pulls her phone out once more.

 

 _Yes. Just had to put the last touches on Brandon’s gift_ , Jon texts back. _I’m about to pull up the street. Could you please have a couple of the guys meet me outside? I’m going to need help._

Sansa’s brow furrows at that. A couple of guys? What on earth has Jon done?

 

She looks to see who’s available, thinking she’ll ask Tormund, but there is a fourth small chair at the children’s table and Tormund has squatted himself into it, looking just a little bit ridiculous since his knees are taller than the table, but the children seem quite delighted as he joins in their “ARRRR!” competition and Brandon is putting an eyepatch on him and Victoria is trying to braid his beard. Margaery retrieves a comb from her purse and hands it to the little girl, showing how to comb the beard without making Tormund wince when the teeth hit a tangle.

 

She decides to ask Edd instead, finding him standing and speaking with Arya and Gendry as he eats one of the corn dogs. He turns his head when he sees her approaching from the corner of his eye.

 

“Jon just sent me a text and says he needs help with Brandon’s present. Do you mind?” Sansa asks.

 

Edd breaks into a smile, leading Sansa to believe that he knows exactly what Jon’s present to Brandon is.

 

“Of course not,” he agrees and finishes his corn dog in two bites.

 

“Grab Robb on your way,” Sansa says as he heads to leave the kitchen. She then looks to Arya and Gendry and for the first time, she notices that they are both wearing smiles just as Edd wore. “You know what Jon did,” she then states because there’s not a doubt in her mind now.

 

Gendry doesn’t say anything, but just keeps smiling, and Arya shrugs.

 

“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arya says and Sansa rolls her eyes.

 

She finds out within minutes just exactly what Jon has done for Brandon’s birthday.

 

It’s two feet long and weighs at least sixty pounds, made from a heavy grey stone, and it takes both Jon and Robb to carry it into the house due to its awkward shape while Edd holds the door for them and Catelyn makes sure they don’t scratch any of the walls.

 

Sansa stands in the hall, her mouth having dropped open and unable to close again, and she watches as they set it down as carefully as they can in the living room.

 

“What do you think?” Jon asks, rubbing the back of his neck, as if shy.

 

He’s wearing black jeans that day, too, and a black Henley beneath his winter coat, unzipped, and his hair is pulled back into its man bun.

 

Sansa stares at him and she has no idea what to say; even if she _can_ say anything.

 

Tears brim her eyes – so many tears today – but these are tears of being completely taken and being just completely overwhelmed with the man standing in front of her and what he has done for her son.

 

“It can go into his bedroom, but if you don’t want it in there, it can go in the backyard. Obviously, the stone will be able to withstand the snow-” Jon says, but that’s all he is able to say because even with her mom, brother, and Edd all still in the living room, Sansa slides a hand onto Jon’s cheek and kisses him.

 

She doesn’t care who is around to see. She has to kiss Jon that very second and it doesn’t matter – not anymore – who can see them. Jon seems to be in complete agreement because his hands find her hips and hold onto her.

 

“Oh, man,” Robb grumbles to himself and Catelyn swiftly gives him a look.

 

They hear scampering feet in the hallway and then Brandon pops into the living room.

 

“Jon!” The boy exclaims, having heard Jon’s voice all of the way from the kitchen. “Jon!”

 

Jon pulls back from Sansa, first giving her a smile, and then looking to Brandon. “Happy birthday, Little Stark,” he smiles and he swoops him up into his arms.

 

“Sweetling, look what Jon got you for your birthday,” Sansa smiles, tears still brimming in her eyes.

 

It makes her absolutely ache when she sees Jon and Brandon interacting with one another; the way in which Brandon loves Jon and how much Jon seems to love Brandon in return. No, not seem. Jon _does_ love Brandon. And it makes Sansa ache for so many years that were wasted and with thoughts or Ramsay. But it also makes her ache because seeing her son and Jon together, it is so sweet and… and it’s perfect.

 

Brandon looks at the grey statue and his mouth falls open, but he’s actually not able to say anything; not a sound or even a gasp. Catelyn already has her phone out so she can take pictures and both Robb and Edd are watching with smiles, growing broader with each passing moment because Brandon is still and silent and he’s staring down at the statue as if in complete shock.

 

And then, he explodes. “A hippo!” Brandon shouts at the top of his lungs. “You got me a hippo!”

 

…

 

After Brandon’s explosion, Sansa decides it should be present-time for everyone else.

 

Her parents – as promised – have bought Brandon’s first little bed and everyone else gifts him with toys – plenty of pirate and _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ merchandise, but it’s no secret that Jon’s present trounces them all and after Brandon walks around, hugging each and every person and thanking them – because “manners are important” as Sansa is trying to teach him – Brandon, Victoria and Alaric want to play on the hippo, all clambering all over it, its back wide enough to sit comfortably on and smooth enough for sliding off of it to not hurt.

 

After about a half hour, Sansa suggests they go downstairs and play the games and she has gift bags for both Victoria and Alaric and then it’s cake time.

 

Catelyn snaps dozens of pictures and Ned records it all on his phone and everyone sings “Happy Birthday” once Sansa lights the candles and then kneeling down at Brandon’s side, her arms around his middle, she does her best not to cry as she sings, too.

 

“Make a wish, Brandon,” Sansa smiles and Brandon thinks for a moment and then leans in, everyone cheering as he blows out the three lit candles.

 

Sansa kisses his cheek and then turns him in her arms, lifting him up as she hugs him tightly.

 

“Happy Birthday, Brandon,” she whispers into his ear and Brandon hugs her in return.

 

For all her worries and nerves, the party has gone perfectly. The three children have had the best time and by the end of it, all are moments away from falling asleep. The adults have seemed to have a good time as well, both Tormund and Rickon wet from cannonballs that had hit them and exploded during the games, the food is nearly all gone and the cake is delicious and moist and tastes as good as it looks.

 

It seems like everyone had just arrived before they are leaving again, wishing Brandon one final happy birthday and thanking Sansa for everything, telling her that the party was amazing.

 

Sansa sits on the couch, Brandon in her lap, his fingers loose around a lock of her hair, and he’s almost asleep. She hates to move. She really does hate to even think about moving. It’s like Lady is using her leg as a pillow and she hates to move then, too. But she _really_ has to go to the bathroom.

 

Jon, sitting next to her, seems to sense her predicament because as slowly and carefully as he can, he lifts Brandon from her lap and settles the boy into his, Brandon’s head finding his chest and his eyes growing heavier with each blink. Sansa gives him a grateful smile, a smile Jon easily returns to her, and she leans over, giving him a kiss on his cheek, a kiss on Brandon’s head and she gets up, finally getting a moment to go to the bathroom.

 

When she comes out of the bathroom again, she peeks into the kitchen. Her mom is there, cleaning up, and both Arya and Bran are helping themselves to another piece of cake from the pirate ship that is almost completely gone. Sansa knows she should go in there and help Catelyn, and she will, but her feet take her back to the den.

 

“Jon?” Brandon asks sleepily – more asleep than awake – and Sansa is standing behind the couch and Jon has his back to her so he doesn’t know she’s returned. Brandon’s hand is lifted and he’s slowly tracing the scar at Jon’s right eyebrow with a lazy finger.

 

“Yes?” Jon replies.

 

“Are you my daddy?” Brandon asks and Sansa freezes and she can see Jon do the same.

 

Sansa puts a hand over her mouth and the tears that have been forming all day – over so many different things – finally spill from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her heart is thudding so loudly, she is certain that everyone within the house can hear and she’s amazed that she’s actually still breathing at all. Her knees feel weak and she manages to leave the den, leaning heavily against the wall in the hallway for support.

 

She doesn’t hear how Jon responds and she tells herself to go back in there; that it’s not fair to leave Jon alone with _her_ son after he asks such a question. Jon doesn’t owe either of them anything and just because Jon loves them both – she doesn’t doubt that he does – it’s not fair to Jon to expect him to have any idea what to say in response to Brandon’s question right now.

 

Not that Sansa has any answer either, but at least she’s Brandon mom and she can tell him something.

 

But what? What can she possibly say? She will _never_ tell him about Ramsay. She made that decision the very second the doctor placed a screaming and bloody baby Brandon into her arms for the very first time. She promised the newborn, and herself, right then and there that Ramsay would never see him or touch him and he certainly would never know him and she never wants Brandon to know Ramsay in return.

 

Ramsay. Ramsay. Ramsay.

 

Even when she hasn’t seen him in years, he’s always here. In her mind. Whether he everywhere or even if he’s just in the smallest corner of it. He never leaves her. And it’s not even because she has a son who has Bolton blood running through his veins. Brandon is nothing like Ramsay and she’ll kill herself before she lets her son resemble his sperm donor in any way. She thinks of Ramsay every day because of what he had done to her; and because she doesn’t know when that chapter of her life will close.

 

She can’t keep living like this. She can’t faint in the market because she thinks she sees Ramsay. She can’t jump every time her doorbell rings unexpectedly. She can’t have her son ask Jon who is daddy is without knowing the answer. When Brandon asks, she wants to be able to tell him, confidently, “Your daddy’s dead” or “Your daddy’s gone” or something along this lines.

 

She can’t keep trying to move forward while still being pulled back constantly by the past.

 

With tears still slowly making tracks down her cheeks, but her mind made up, Sansa pushes herself from the wall and is able to walk down the hallway towards her father’s office. Ned had excused himself a little bit ago to make a phone call and he is still in there.

 

Outside his door, Sansa focuses on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

 

Fainting right now will do no one – especially her – any favors. It’s time she finally does this.

 

 _“Have you ever asked your parents why they are so certain that Ramsay isn’t here when you think you see him?”_ Dr. Tarth’s voice echoes in her head.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath. She has to do this.

 

And with that, she lifts her fist and knocks on the closed door.

 

“Come in!” Ned calls out.

 

With another deep breath, Sansa turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, stepping inside.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to those still reading and commenting. I know stories get "boring" once the main couple gets together, but there are still some things to work through.


	27. Twenty-Five

…

 

**Chapter Twenty-Five.**

Ned Stark is Warden of the North – the most prestigious and highest position someone in the North can be. When the North declared their independence from the rest of the Westeros Kingdoms years ago – and it was won after much fighting – the people of the North decided that they didn’t want another King. They had had enough of those and wanted to get away from the politics of the South as much as they could. They decided on a Warden – something like a President, something like a King, but something entirely their own. There is a small council of Lords and Ladies, who the people of the North elect, and the Warden of the North and the council make all decisions regarding the North and its people. They still have close relations with the Kingdoms of the South – of course – as all are part of Westeros and they all need things from one another, but the North is its own and that’s the way the people like it.

 

A Warden’s term is three years and after the end of each of his, Ned thinks that he won’t run again. But the people of the North all but demand it. Ned Stark is fair and honest and he always tries to do what he thinks is best for the North and the people. They want him to be Warden for as long as he can manage it.

 

Sansa has always been so proud of her father and honestly, it sometimes is forgotten to her just how powerful he actually is. For being the most powerful family in the North, none of the Stark family is ever photographed when they are out, going about their lives. Sansa has never asked, but she’s almost completely certain that her father did _something_ to ensure that their privacy remains intact. He always says that he chose to be a public servant, in the public’s eye. His family did not.

 

It actually amazes Sansa at how little attention any of Ned Stark’s children receives. Little being none at all.

 

That’s how _powerful_ her father is – whether he actually acts like it or not.

 

But her father holding such a position of power, it has confused Sansa more than once as to why Ramsay had treated her the way he had.

 

 _Because he hadn’t cared_ , Sansa reminds herself. _He hadn’t cared and he thought he would get away with it_.

 

And hadn’t he almost? If Sansa hadn’t gotten pregnant…

 

“Come in!” Ned calls out.

 

With another deep breath, Sansa turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, stepping inside.

 

“Sansa,” Ned smiles when he sees her enter and she manages to give him a small smile as she closes the door once more behind her. “Does your mother need help with cleaning up?” He asks.

 

“Yes, but I’m sure she will recruit the others,” Sansa responds as she crosses the room to stand in front of her father’s large – rather imposing desk; the entire surface covered in papers. “You always told us that that was why you and mom had so many kids. To put us to work, remember?” She reminds him, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

 

Ned breaks into a wider smile, chuckling. “You’ll see when Brandon’s a bit older.”

 

Sansa’s own smile fades almost instantly. Brandon. That’s why she’s in here. She’s doing this as much for her son as much as she is for herself. She needs to know what happened to Ramsay for her own piece of mind and so she will have an answer to give if – _when_ – Brandon ever asks about his dad again.

 

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Ned asks and Sansa nods though of course, nothing is alright.

 

She gestures towards one of the brown leather couches in front of the fire place, a fire roaring in the hearth, and Ned, with his brow slightly furrowed with a mixture of concern and confusion, nods, standing up from his desk to follow her. They sit side by side and Sansa turns a bit so she’s facing him more.

 

“What is it, Sansa?” Ned asks in a gentle, calm tone that reminds her of Dr. Tarth even though that’s the tone Ned usually speaks in. It amazes her that with his high-demanding job, he can always be so calm.

 

“What happened to Ramsay?” Sansa asks, envisioning the question to be like a Band-Aid and the faster she can tear it off, the better it will be. Best to just get out it and be done with it.

 

Ned stares at her and the fire is reflecting in his eyes, showing that he has definitely _not_ been expecting Sansa to ask that question; either tonight or ever.

 

Sansa decides that she needs to say something else in case he is thinking that she doesn’t really need to know. “It will help me. It really will, dad. I still see him and I… I need to know that he’s not really there.” She swallows. “Please,” she then adds in a near-whisper.

 

Ned stares at her for another long moment and she wishes she knows what he is thinking right now. She actually finds herself holding her breath. A large part of her is definitely expecting him to tell her that no, she doesn’t need to know. It won’t be the first time someone in her family decides what she needs.

 

But after another moment, Ned clears his throat. “Wait here for a moment,” he says and Sansa watches as he rises from the couch and walks to the door, opening it and then stepping from his office.

 

Sansa remains on the couch and she suddenly imagines Ned returning with Ramsay. Maybe her father has been holding Ramsay captive in the basement for all of these years. It’s ridiculous, she knows, and yet…

 

Sansa turns her head and stares into the flames of the fire in the hearth in front of her. The heat licks across her body, warming her from head to toe, and yet, she curls her sock-clad toes and her hands are curled into fists in her lap as if she’s trying to preserve body heat. She’s very aware of the ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantel.

 

Her head instantly turns once she hears the door open and Ned has returned, but he is not alone.

 

Robb and Jon are with him now, too. With a furrowed brow, she slowly begins to rise to her feet.

 

“Sit, sweetheart,” Ned says as he returns to the couch and Sansa does so – still slowly.

 

Robb closes the office door and he locks it before coming towards the fireplace and Jon sits himself down at Sansa’s side on the couch as Ned sits down, once more, on her other side. Robb settles himself down in one of the leather chairs and Sansa wonders why he and Jon are now in here as well, but she doesn’t want to ask. She knows Ned will – hopefully – answer the question without her needing to ask.

 

Her hands remain in loose fists on her lap and she expects Jon to reach over and take her hand, but he doesn’t. Actually, she suddenly is quite aware that not a single part of Jon is touching her. She turns her head to look at him and his eyes are already looking right at her, the flames dancing in his darkened eyes. Slowly, she then turns her head to look at Robb. He is leaning forward in the chair, his arms resting on his knees, and like Jon, he is looking at her and not saying anything.

 

Sansa looks back to Jon. “Where’s Brandon?” She asks.

 

“He’s with your mom. She’s going to give him a bath.”

 

Sansa swallows and nods at that and her stomach begins to knot itself. She has no idea what is coming. Again, she’s very aware of the ticking clock and not only is she nervous now, she’s starting to feel scared.

 

“Sansa, I’m going to tell you what happened, but I’m going to need you to not say a word until I’m completely finished. No interruptions. No questions until I’m completely finished,” Ned tells her and Sansa turns now to look at him. “It’s important that you listen to everything.”

 

Sansa nods and her stomach is aching so fiercely now. “I won’t interrupt,” she promises.

 

“Roose Bolton is not a bad man,” Ned begins. “He’s not the best, but he’s not bad. His main concern always has been the people of Dreadfort and for a Lord elected to serve his people, that’s how it should be. He can sometimes be too stubborn, wanting it all or nothing at all, and being a part of politics, you have to be willing to compromise… I’m getting off the path. What I need you to know though my opinion of Roose Bolton.”

 

Sansa nods. She has met Roose Bolton a few times and he is nothing like Ramsay. He is quiet and well-mannered, but sometimes, Roose would give his son a look and Sansa could see the flash of anger in his eyes. The man was capable of having a strong temper, but he had always been nothing but polite to Sansa. Sansa has always assumed it was because of who her father is.

 

“After you graduated from Winterfell and told your mother and I that you were moving to Dreadfort with Ramsay, we did not see a reason to protest,” Ned continues. “Were we happy? Not really. Though Ramsay was perfectly polite to us, we weren’t wild about him and we wanted you to stay in Wintertown with the rest of the family, but we understood that you were old enough to make your own decisions and you were in love so there was no reason for us to stop you.”

 

_Old enough to make your own decisions and you were in love._

And Roose isn’t a bad man, Sansa repeats her father’s word.

 

Ned has raised Robb, Bran, Rickon and helped raise Jon and in his mind, a son is a reflection of their father. If Roose isn’t bad, why would he truly think that Ramsay was?

Well, she certainly proved them all wrong, hadn’t she? Sansa thinks bitterly to herself. She was young and an idiot and she wants to scream that they should have stopped her, but as Ned explained, there was _no_ reason for them to. It was how Sansa was, she knows. She _had_ been in love with Ramsay. Or rather, she had thought herself to be and if her parents had tried to put a stop to it, she would have reacted as any other young woman when their parents try to prevent them from doing something.

 

She is so stupid, she feels a rush of self-hatred and anger towards herself beginning to burn her chest.

 

“But then you didn’t visit and phone calls became rare,” Ned says and Sansa doesn’t want to look at him with the feeling of guilt pressing down on her, but she can’t look away.

 

Ramsay had slowly cut her off from her family and had done it so slowly and methodically, Sansa hadn’t even realized that it had happened at all until it was too late.

 

“Your mother wanted to storm to Dreadfort and see you for herself, but I convinced her-” Ned’s voice catches then, skipping a breath, and Sansa finds herself moving closer to him, one of her hands reaching out to touch his and Ned grasps it. “I convinced her that it would only push you further away. So I sent one of my trusted men to go to Dreadfort and see you. You were a waitress at that café.”

 

Sansa has nearly forgotten all about the café. It was right across the street from their flat and that is the only reason that Ramsay had allowed her to get a job there. For months, her life consisted of those two places. Their flat and that café. Since it was right across the street from where they lived, Ramsay permitted her to work there while he was at his own job and he always said that he would know if she went anywhere else.

 

Sansa had believed him. By then, she was terrified of him and quite aware of his capabilities.

 

“He would go and see you twice a month and report back to me. You…” Ned swallows. “He would take a few pictures of you so your mother and I could see you and you looked… you looked fine,” he whispered.

 

Sansa wants to say something, but she remembers her promise and remains silent. She gives Ned’s hand the gentlest squeeze and Ned tightens his grasp on it.

 

“But then, you called me from the train station and I saw you myself – up close – for the first time in years and then your mother took those pictures…” his voice is growing thicker and as tears glass over Ned’s eyes, Sansa’s own begin to fill.

 

She moves as close to him as she can and Ned wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight – too tight – but Sansa hardly even feels it and she hugs him too tight, too, as Ned takes short, gasping breaths, trying to gain his composure, but he can’t seem to.

 

“Robert Baratheon,” Robb speaks suddenly and Sansa slowly pulls her head back from her father’s shoulder to turn and look at Robb. “After dad showed me the pictures, I told him we had to do something and dad didn’t disagree. We just didn’t know what. So he called Robert Baratheon.”

 

Robert Baratheon has been Ned’s best friend for years – so many years now too keep count – and he and his brother, Stannis, own the largest construction company in all of Westeros. They are responsible for building some of the largest buildings in the Southern kingdoms and does work in the North as well. Ned had named his first born son after his closest friend and divorced Robert will come to Wintertown to spend Christmas with the Stark family, bringing two of his three children with him – and all of the Stark children are grateful that it is Myrcella and Tommen Baratheon because none of them can stand Joffery.

 

“Does he know as well?” Sansa can’t help, but ask, momentarily forgetting her promise.

 

“He knows just what we had to tell him. He doesn’t know anything, Sansa. We promise,” Ned assures her.

 

“We told him that an ex-boyfriend of yours had hurt you deeply and I wanted to teach him a lesson,” Robb further explains.

 

It is quiet for a moment and Sansa looks to Robb, to Jon and then to her father. She wants to know what they did and she almost wants them to hurry up with the story, but she wants to hear every bit of it, too.

 

“Jon and I jumped him in an alley in Dreadfort when he was walking home from work and we managed to knock him out and drag him into Jon’s truck. We then drove to the empty warehouse that Robert had for us,” Robb pushes on, but then he stops and looks to Jon.

 

“Tell her,” Jon says.

 

“When we got him there, Ramsay began to come to and Jon began beating him again until he went unconscious again. It was so bad, I actually thought Jon would just beat him to death and it would be finished that way. ”

 

Sansa moves her eyes from her brother to Jon. He hasn’t stopped looking at her since the story began and he’s staring at her now and she knows that he’s trying to see what she is thinking of him now; openly worried that as she hears this, things between them will change.

 

Sansa moves from her dad and she sits in the middle of the couch once more. She holds her dad’s hand with one of hers and her other hand, she moves it towards Jon. Jon takes hold of it and doesn’t let go.

 

Ned takes over once more. “We had a storage crate and we set Ramsay within it and he hadn’t woken up yet. So we waited.”

 

Sansa is sure she has stopped breathing as she waits now, too.

 

“When he came to again, we made sure that we were the last faces he saw. And then we turned on the cement mixer,” Ned says and that’s all he says and he allows Sansa to fill in the blanks of the rest.

 

Of everything they could have possibly told her this evening, she has never imagined that it would be this. What is it that she has been expecting? Beating him, yes. Threatening him, yes. But… but Robb, Jon and her father had killed him. They had put him in a box and filled it with cement. They did all of that. For her.

 

“We drove it all the way to Sea Dragon Point and dropped it off shore,” Robb finishes. “No one has ever had anyone idea. No one misses him. Not even Roose Bolton. They just assumed he left and honestly, everyone seems just fine with that.”

 

Sansa releases her father’s and Jon’s hands and she bows her head so she can’t see any of them. She stares into her lap, but her vision is becoming too blurry and tears flood and then pour down her cheeks from her eyes. Her breath comes out in gasps and she takes gulps of air, trying to breathe.

 

He’s dead. This whole time, Ramsay’s been dead and he’s never coming back. He’s never going to come to her and hurt her again and try to take Brandon from her. Ramsay’s dead.

 

She keeps repeating that to herself, not able to say it enough.

 

She feels Jon shift next to her and then he’s sitting at her side, his arm around her waist. Sansa still can’t stop crying and she covers her face with her hands.

 

“I never wanted anyone to say a word to you,” Ned says. “I didn’t know if you would ever be ready to hear it.”

 

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you,” Jon adds softly to her, his eyes never leaving her.

 

Sansa takes a great breath and wipes at her face, lifting her head to take a moment and look at all three men. Three men in her life who love her and who have actually killed for her.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her throat aching and raw. “I’m so sorry that I made any of you do that for me.”

 

She has turned her good and just father into a murderer. And Jon and Robb into murderers as well.

 

She’s not worth that.

 

“Sansa Stark,” Ned says and his voice has taken on that hard edge it sometimes gets when he’s about to make a point and he doesn’t want anyone – let that person be his family or a council member – to not be hearing his words. Sansa looks at him as he takes both of her hands in his. It is as if he can read her mind. “There is _nothing_ none of us wouldn’t do for you. And you being alive and safe in this world is worth everything.”

 

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Sansa will still be processing this information and then she will begin measuring Jon for the clothes she is going to make him for her parents' anniversary dinner. Thank you so, so much for reading!! I hope this wasn't a "jump the shark" chapter.


	28. Twenty-Six

…

 

**Twenty-Six.**

She takes the week off from work.

 

She feels guilty about it since she comes to the decision on Sunday and calls Nan to ask if she can. Nan, not surprising, has no problems with it. Sansa rarely uses her vacation and it usually sits there, accumulating and not being used. Sansa just always feels guilty when she uses it – using it only when Brandon is sick and she has to keep him home and there’s no way she won’t be staying home with him.

 

Nan assures her over the phone that the whole reason they earn vacation is to use it. And it isn’t as if midterms or finals are approaching, times which the library is often pandemonium. Nan will get one of the part-time librarians to help out and she nearly demands that Sansa enjoy her week off.

 

Sansa doesn’t know if enjoying it is actually possible, but she thanks Nan – thanks her again and again – and when she hangs up, she can breathe _marginally_ better. She loves her job, but she honestly doesn’t know how she would have handled it for the next few days. She just wants to be home right now. She wants to be with Brandon and Lady in their little house and play with Brandon and his toys and watch movies and episodes of _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ and _Project Runway_ and work on her several sewing projects.

 

She has completed Brandon’s look for her parents’ anniversary dinner in a couple more weeks and her dress for the donor event at Winterfell University Library is also complete. She still has to measure Jon for his clothes and after scraping her original dress for the anniversary dinner and sketching the whole thing over again, she will have to take a trip to Mordane’s for more fabrics, but Mordane’s is closed Sundays so it will have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe she and Brandon can go in the late morning and then have lunch somewhere.

 

Saturday evening, she is completely exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. And she just wants to go home. She has to think and just _be_ for a little bit.

 

Everyone helps her load Brandon’s presents into the car and Sansa gently buckles a near-sleeping Brandon into his car seat in the back, before she turns to look at them. She gives them all hugs – her mom kissing her head and saying to call if she needs anything and her dad squeezing his arms as tightly around her as he had in his study and it should hurt, but it doesn’t. She hugs Robb and closes her eyes, pressing her nose into his shoulder, and like Catelyn, Robb kisses her on the head.

 

And then there is Jon.

 

Her parents have started to go back inside, followed by Arya and Rickon – Sansa has already said goodbye to Bran inside so he doesn’t have to go down and up the ramp, though she knows he doesn’t really mind the ramp – and Robb tells Jon that he’ll see him back at their flat before he turns, also heading back inside, leaving Jon and Sansa the only ones left standing at her car.

 

Jon’s hands are in his coat pockets. “Let me know when you want me to bring the hippo.”

 

Sansa nods and doesn’t say anything. She steps into him and her arms wind around his waist. Jon is momentarily surprised and she knows that he thinks that she hadn’t wanted him to touch her. His arms then slide around her and he holds her as close to him as he can without completely crushing her.

 

Sansa wants to turn her head and press her face into the side of his throat so she does just that.

 

“I love you,” she whispers.

 

“I love you, too,” Jon whispers back, his lips to her forehead.

 

She doesn’t know what it is – actually, she knows _exactly_ what it is – and it’s so overwhelming, a weight on her chest she can’t shake and before she can stop it and control herself, she begins to cry.

 

“Sansa,” Jon whispers and he now does crush her to him.

 

She shakes her head as if to tell him that she’s alright even though the tears are pouring out now and her breath is becoming ragged. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, still hiding her face against his throat.

 

“You didn’t do anything, sweet girl,” Jon says, but Sansa isn’t going to believe that. Not right now. “Let me drive you and Brandon home, Sansa. I don’t… I want to make sure you get home alright.”

 

Sansa shakes her head though again and finally pulls it back to look at him, a bit more under control now. “I’ll be alright,” she says and he’s staring at her, his eyes dark and there is a slight clench of his jaw. She knows he wants to argue, but she also knows that he won’t. She lifts a hand and rubs her hand over his jaw, as if to get it unclenched, his facial hair scratching her fingertips.

 

For a moment, she imagines how that beard will feel on the inside of her thighs.

 

And then she hates herself for those thoughts. This man has just told her that he had killed a man and she’s standing here, imagining him going down on her. There is something irrevocably wrong with her and she wants to go home before she starts crying and this time, won’t be able to stop.

 

“What are you thinking?” Jon asks her in a quiet voice.

 

Sansa doesn’t hesitate in shaking her head. “Things you used to do to me,” she says anyway.

 

Jon’s eyes are practically black as he stares into her face.

 

“I’ll call you when…” she pauses and swallows a dryness in her throat. “When I’m ready.”

 

And she means that in more ways than one.

 

Jon nods and his hands are gentle on her cheeks as he leans in and kisses her forehead. He then walks her around to her door and opens it for her. Sansa is the one to lean into him this time for a kiss – this one on his cheek – and she then gets into the car and Jon stands there as she pulls from the driveway and through her rearview mirror, she can see him still standing there as she begins driving down the street.

 

Brandon is sound asleep in his car seat and when she pulls into the garage at home, closing the big door behind her, he remains so. Sansa lifts him as carefully as she can so not to wake him and she carries him into the house, where Lady is dancing, eager for their return. Sansa smiles and lets her out in the backyard and then carries Brandon into his bedroom. He is completely conked out and Sansa almost wants to laugh, but instead, she purses her lips together so not to wake him. The excitement of his birthday has completely worn him out. It has worn her out, too, all of the planning and then the party itself and then everything that was said afterwards…

 

Brandon mumbles something as Sansa pulls a fresh night diaper onto him and changes him into his pajamas, but he doesn’t wake and only when she lifts him in her arms again to place him in his crib does he stir fully.

 

“Mama, bed,” he mumbles.

 

Sansa smiles faintly and kisses her son on his head. “Of course, birthday boy,” she says and a small smile ghosts across Brandon’s lips before his head rests heavily on her shoulder and his breathing evens out again within seconds.  

 

In her bedroom, she settles Brandon into her bed and then changes herself into her pajamas, sighing softly with contentment as the warm fleece material settles over her skin. She then goes to let Lady back inside and lock all of the doors and set the alarm and to grab Moe, the stuffed wolf, from Brandon’s crib. She decides to leave his presents in the car until the next morning.

 

Laying down in her bed next to her baby boy, who is sleeping deeply, she leaves the lamp on her nightstand on for another moment and she just looks at Brandon, watching him as he sleeps. She thinks of her father, Robb and Jon and what they had told her this evening; of what they had done. For _her_. And for Brandon.

 

She wishes she could go back in time and see her past self the night she met Ramsay at that party – when she had no idea who he truly was – and just scream at herself for being such an idiot and to get away from him. But then… if she _could_ do that, she wouldn’t have Brandon here, today.

 

And Brandon, simply put, is everything.

 

She would do absolutely anything to keep him safe and isn’t that what her father, Robb and Jon have done for him? And for her, too? They love her and Brandon both so much, they had done what they had felt they needed to do to keep them both safe. They had actually killed someone to ensure her safety and the safety of the baby inside of her that had yet to be born.

 

Just thinking of it now, tears begin brimming in her eyes. She was young and stupid – so stupid – and she put herself into such a position and she made three _good_ men in her life turn themselves into murderers. For her. And she doesn’t care what her father says. She is not worth that. She never will be.

 

Her father, Robb and Jon… what if they had been discovered? What if Roose Bolton or someone else actually cared about Ramsey and missed him? They were prepared to throw their whole lives away? For her? Sansa can’t understand that. She doesn’t know if she ever will.

 

Sansa lifts a hand and gently combs her fingers through Brandon’s auburn curls. At least now, when Brandon asks again about his daddy, Sansa will be able to tell him. His dad was a bad man who treated her cruelly and he died. And now, they will _never_ have to worry about seeing him again or him finding them or him trying to take Brandon away from her. That will be too much for a little boy to understand, but he understands good and bad and maybe, it can be just as easy as that. Ramsey was a bad man and three men who love Sansa and Brandon so much saw to it that the bad man was punished.

 

Maybe, Sansa can convince her to think of it in easy terms like that as well.

 

…

 

The next morning, Sansa wakes up to sunshine pouring into the bedroom and the sound of a toilet flushing. Her eyes flutter open just as Brandon comes scampering back into the bedroom and then he is climbing up the stepladder she has for him on the side of the bed.

 

“Oof!” Sansa exclaims as Brandon throws his body down on top of hers and she smiles as he giggles and she looks at him. “Did you sleep well?” She asks.

 

“I pee!” He exclaims.

 

“I heard,” Sansa says, the smile still across her lips. “Did you have a good birthday yesterday?”

 

“Best!” Brandon answers with a beaming smile and then he throws himself down and Sansa lets out a laugh, wrapping him up in her arms.

 

She kisses his head. “So, I have a plan for us today. Would you like to hear it?” Brandon’s head, on her chest, nods. She kisses his head again. “I’m going to fix you breakfast and you’re going to watch _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ so I can take a shower. And then, we’re going to get all of your birthday presents from the car and I was thinking we might just enjoy a warm day at home. Would you like that?”

 

“PJ day?” Brandon asks, a happy smile already spreading across his lips at the idea.

 

Sansa gives a little laugh. “If that is what you would like.”

 

“PJ day!” Brandon announces with glee and Sansa laughs, giving him another kiss and the tightest hug.

 

They begin their day now. After going to the bathroom herself, Sansa goes into the kitchen and disarming the alarm, she lets Lady out into the backyard. There had been another snowfall the night before as they slept, just an inch or two, but Sansa will have to go out and shovel later. For the time being though, the white blanket is undisturbed, glittering beneath the sunlight brightly like diamonds.

 

As soon as Sansa opens the backdoor, Lady bounds out happily and practically dives headfirst into a drift of snow and Brandon laughs, wanting to go out and play with her, but Sansa reminds him of breakfast. As she fixes him a warm bowl of oatmeal, Brandon dances around her, chanting “PJ day” over and over again.

 

Once the bowl is prepared, she drops a few fresh blackberries on top and once his plastic sip-cup is filled with milk, she carries his breakfast into the living room.

 

“Let’s put on one of your _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ DVDs,” Sansa suggests and Brandon hurries to the shelf where she has all of their movies and he pulls one of his own into his hands.

 

Once the episode is playing and Brandon is settled with his breakfast, Sansa leans down and kisses his head. “Do you need anything?” She asks and Brandon, his eyes glued to the television, shakes his head.

 

Sansa knows she has at least forty minutes; that when the cartoon is playing, a war could literally break out outside their home and Brandon still wouldn’t stop watching his precious animated hippos. Knowing that Lady wouldn’t be nearly ready to come back inside either just yet, Sansa goes into the bathroom, closing – but not locking the door – and turns the shower on, letting the warm heat up as she strips herself from her pajamas.

 

She finds herself, standing naked in front of the mirror, staring at her body. It has been such a long time since she has actually taken a moment to look at it and not when the lights are low.

 

_It was so bad, I actually thought Jon would just beat him to death and it would be finished that way._

Robb’s words from the night before echo in her mind; about Jon and what he had done to Ramsay. She has never seen Jon angry like that before. She has seen him mad, of course – he is only human – but not so blind with rage, the possibility of killing someone with just his fists is conceivable.

 

And that was for her.

 

She reaches down and her fingertips touch one of the scars; a cut mark beneath her breast, over a rib. It had been deep enough where a visit to the ER to stitch it closed again would have had to be necessary, but thankfully, she’s always been gifted with a needle and a thread. Her eyes scan over the rest. Scars from Ramsay’s knife, pockets of burn marks from candle wax. His teeth marks. The “R” carving he had given her one particularly awful night on the small of her back that she can only see when she twists herself around and looks at it in the mirror’s reflection from over her shoulder. _A stamp for_ my _tramp_.

 

Her fingertips touch it lightly now. She has never thought of getting her body clean from the markings, to be honest. She knows there are lasers of sorts and plastic surgery, but she has always felt that the markings have had to remain because she deserved to wear every single one of them.

 

But now, she looks at them and she thinks of her father and brother and Jon; of what they had done because of these scars. She has never thought of them like this before, but these scars, they show that she has survived Ramsay. Like Tormund reminds her, she is a survivor. She’s here. She’s alive and these scars show that. They aren’t pretty, but they’re _her_ scars. Her family killed for her because of these scars.

 

Maybe she can get rid of the “R” though. She belongs to no one and certainly no one with an “R” name.

 

After her shower, the towel wrapped securely around her body, she leaves the bathroom, releasing the pent-up steam from inside, and pokes her head into the living room.

 

“Alright, sweetling?” She asks.

 

“Yep!” Brandon answers, not even turning his head towards her.

 

In her bedroom, still wrapped in her towel, she calls Nan to discuss vacation with her. And once she hangs up, Nan promising to schedule it as soon as she gets into the library tomorrow morning, Sansa breathes a little easier and she changes herself into a fresh set of pajamas and begins to dry her hair.

 

She’s not necessarily surprised that the main thought on her mind right now is Jon. She told him that she would call him when she was ready, but ready for what? Yes, last night was certainly an information overload, and she’s not even certain whether she condones it or not, but, she does understand it. Her family loves her and that is what they decided to do. For her. Sansa knows that if it had been another Stark in the same position as she had been, she certainly wouldn’t have had to be talked into doing something of the sort if it meant protecting anyone in her family.

 

Before leaving her bedroom, she takes her cell phone out once more and dials Jon’s number. She assumes he must have the phone right in his hand at that moment because he answers immediately.

 

“Would you like to come over later this afternoon?” She asks.

 

“Yes,” Jon answers immediately and Sansa wonders if he can hear her smiling into the phone.

 

...

 

She gets all of Brandon’s presents from the car, handing Brandon the lightest boxes and bags so he can help, too. She’s going to have to call her parents within the next few days to bring Brandon’s new bed over and to help with putting it together while taking the crib apart. She figures getting Brandon used to sleeping in a bed will be best when she doesn’t have work to worry about the next morning.

 

She then spends the rest of her morning, setting it up for him and then playing with the rather elaborate playset that all of her siblings had chipped in together to get for Brandon – a complete plastic set of the _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ world including trees, the four hippos, the hotel itself and a few other reoccurring jungle animal characters as well as the Hotel bus that Mick the Hippo drives, constructed from bananas. Jon has wondered out loud – more than once – how an engine and tires could be wired into bananas. He seems to have no issue with hippos running a hotel, but a banana bus, he just can’t wrap his head around it. The set is rather elaborate and Sansa is glad all four of them went into it together because Sansa can just imagine the price tag of this one.

 

Around noon, Brandon is beginning to fall asleep and Sansa lays him down for his midday nap.

 

She sends a text to Jon to knock instead of ring the doorbell and after putting _Rubber Soul_ on, playing it softly, she works in her sunroom for a bit with Lady snoring at her feet, sketching herself new dress ideas. She straightens the instant she hears the familiar rumble of Jon’s pickup truck pulling into the driveway and she hurries to meet him at the front door.

 

She feels nervous and excited and she can’t wait to see him. She decides that she is going to kiss him as soon as he’s inside and the thoughts she had had the night before, of his beard on her skin, return to her and her body – particularly between her thighs – begin to tingle.

 

And again, she has to wonder what on earth is the matter with her. That she can even think of doing such things with Jon after all that she had been told the night before… is there something wrong with her? Is she sick and twisted in her mind in some way?

 

She unlocks the front door and smiles when she sees that he has brought Ghost with him.

 

“Hi,” Jon smiles at her through the screen door as she unlocks it and pushes it open for him.

 

It’s absolutely frigid outside, but Sansa can’t feel that at all. She watches Jon as he steps into her home – wearing his tight jeans and his navy blue wool pea coat and his hair is pulled back into its man bun.

 

She looks at him and she feels warm absolutely everywhere.

 

“I’m glad you called,” Jon then says, closing the door once more behind him and Ghost and Lady are dancing around one another, greeting one another, but honestly, Sansa can only focus on Jon.

 

She steps right up to him and he’s still wearing his coat, the cold still clinging to him, and her hands slide up his chest to run over his shoulders. Jon stares into her face as his own hands rub her arms and then slip down her sides, running over her hips. She shivers and it’s nothing to do with the cold of his skin.

 

She still doesn’t say a word. She tilts her chin and has her lips meet his. Jon seems eager to kiss her in return, his mouth instantly slanting over hers and she moans softly as she feels his tongue touch hers. Her arms tighten around his shoulders and Jon’s own arms circle her waist and haul her body against his. Through his coat, she can still feel the entire length of his body and she nearly whimpers now.

 

It’s not right. Sansa knows. Her father and Robb and Jon have just confessed to doing something awful not even twenty-four hours ago, and now she’s here, kissing Jon and wanting to never stop kissing Jon.

 

And she feels something she hasn’t felt in years. She feels horny.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to stop saying what is going to be in the next chapter because the chapters are always longer than I plan and those original plans have to be pushed back into the next chapter. THANK YOU so, so much for your response to this story. You just completely blow me away. I'm eager to write the next chapter - for reasons ;)


	29. Twenty-Seven

…

 

**Twenty-Seven.**

Sansa breaks away only so she can hurriedly let Ghost and Lady out into the backyard and then she rushes back, Jon having taken his coat off and dropped it over the back of the couch. She rushes right back to him, his arms opening for her, and her hands find his cheeks, pulling his lips back to hers.

 

“I love you, I love you,” Jon murmurs against her mouth, neither separating their lips even as Sansa begins to lead him across the living room, nearing her bedroom. His arms are tight bands around her waist and she can feel him growing hard within in his jeans, pressing himself against her stomach.

 

Sansa shivers and kisses him harder, moaning softly into his mouth. She loves the way his beard scratches her face. She’ll be sure to tell him how much she likes it; how much she hopes that he never shaves it off.

 

“Wait,” Sansa pulls her head back as soon as they step into her bedroom. Both are panting heavily and Sansa admits that she likes seeing Jon just as effected from their kisses as she is. “I just have to check on Brandon,” she says and Jon visibly swallows, nodding his head.

 

Leaving him in her bedroom, Sansa goes into Brandon’s bedroom next door. The boy is still passed out in his crib, sleeping deeply and undisturbed. His party the day before had really worn him out and Sansa wants to bend down and kiss his head, but she admits that she doesn’t want to risk waking him. Not right now. She is not going to dwell on whether she’s an awful mother or not. She doesn’t see the harm in wanting her toddler son to keep napping for just a _bit_ longer.

 

She wants this. She _really_ wants this. With Jon. She tries not to get her hopes up though. As soon as he sees her scars on her torso, this might quite possibly end as quickly as it had begun just minutes earlier.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath. Well, she won’t know unless she gets back in there and gives Jon a chance. He might have a completely opposite reaction of what she is expecting. There is a chance that he won’t recoil or stand up and leave. Maybe he will see her body and still want her.

 

Only one way to find out, Sansa tells herself. Best to get back in there.

 

When she steps into her bedroom again, Jon is sitting on the corner at the foot of the bed and it seems like he’s been giving himself a bit of a pep talk as well. He is staring at her – his eyes black and heated – and he makes Sansa shiver as she closes the door behind her. She doesn’t lock it though. She then stands there and stares at Jon for a moment as he continues sitting and staring at her.

 

“Can I do something?” Sansa asks, breaking the silence.

 

“You can do anything you want,” Jon readily agrees.

 

“I…” she begins, but then stops to take a deep breath. “I have to show you something before we do anything else. It’s… it’s important for you to see now.”

 

Jon sits a little straighter and stares at nothing, but her.

 

Sansa takes another deep breath and slowly approaches him, coming to stand between his spread knees. Her fingers are slightly shaking as she begins undoing the buttons of her pajama top. Jon is completely still and he looks up to her face rather than watching her slowly undo her shirt. Her stomach is knotting itself so tightly, it’s beginning to hurt. Jon hasn’t seen her naked chest since she was eighteen and she is definitely not eighteen anymore. She may still be young, but her body is not the body Jon used to see.

 

He would spend hours after they were done making love – Sansa has always considered what she and Jon did to be making love – and his lips would trail all over her body.

 

“What are you doing?” She wouldn’t be able to help, but ask.

 

“Memorizing you,” he would always answer.

 

Sansa feels tears in her eyes. So much time has been wasted and so much has happened, but even after everything, she’s back here and Jon is with her and he’s the only man she ever wants in front of her.

 

She doesn’t wear a bra on PJ days and once the pajama shirt is completely unbuttoned, Sansa slowly pushes it from her shoulders and lets it drop down her arms to the floor. She wants to close her eyes, but instead, she makes herself look at Jon’s face instead. She needs to see his expression. She needs to see him wince and pull away from her and change his mind about everything; about her.

 

Jon sits there on the bed and stares at her bare body from the waist up and he is completely still. She’s actually not certain he’s breathing or not at the moment. She can only imagine what is racing through his mind right now as he looks at her marred body. He’s probably wishing that she had never showed him.

 

His jaw is clenched and his eyes are dark – but not in the way they are when he is aroused. This is pure anger. For a moment, Sansa thinks that, perhaps, he is angry with _her_.

 

But then, Jon sits right on the edge of the bed and his warm hands slide onto her hips, holding onto her.

 

“That son of a bitch is lucky I already killed him,” Jon says and he lifts his eyes to look into Sansa’s.

 

He keeps his eyes locked with hers when he leans forward and Sansa can’t help, but gasp and stiffen when his lips find the scar beneath her breast, over her ribcage.

 

“What are you doing?” She asks, barely breathing herself now.

 

His lips are causing goosebumps to break out across her skin and her nipples tighten as his lips move to a series of burn marks above her bellybutton and it’s been _so long_ since someone has touched her like this. So gentle and soft; as if she’s a piece of fine-bone china. Actually, the last person to touch her like this was Jon. He was her first and though she dated Harry during her sophomore year of college, she had never slept with him. She just had never been comfortable at the idea of being naked for him – for whatever reason that was in her subconscious – and then there was Ramsay and obviously, he was anything, but gentle and mindful of her.

 

She’s only been with two men and now, she finds herself back with the first and she wishes he had ever been her only. She knows there’s no point in wishing or even thinking about such things, but now, feeling Jon’s lips all over her skin, his hands grasping her hips because her knees feel a little less than stable, his beard gently scratching her and his warm and wet lips kissing and brushing along every mark he finds, it’s really the only thought on her mind. That and how amazing he is making her feel already.

 

He hadn’t winced or cringed or looked away in disgust at the sight of the markings on her body she has now. He hadn’t done any of that and now, he’s actually kissing them.

 

“I’m memorizing you,” Jon answers her question and right on cue, tears flood Sansa’s eyes at his response.

 

“Jon,” she says his name then, breathing it out and breathing it in. “Jon,” she says again just because she wants to say his name; because he’s here and his lips are on her skin and her eyes drift closed because this is what she has wanted for so long, but has never allowed herself to think about it.

 

Jon stands up then and his hands slide onto her cheeks, pulling on her face gently until his lips can capture hers, and Sansa holds onto his biceps, literally holding onto him because she’s about to fall. She knows it. Jon is kissing her as if he’s perhaps been starving for all of these years and now, she’s finally offering him the nourishment that he needs.

 

“I’m not on birth control,” Sansa blurts out once they break their mouths apart so they can both breathe.

 

She has had absolutely no reason to be on anything over the past few years.

 

“I have a condom,” Jon says. “Not that I was expecting this to happen. At all.”

 

She shakes her head with a faint smile. “Me, neither.”

 

She’s not entirely sure why it is happening now or what has gotten into her, but if Jon isn’t going to stop them, she isn’t going to either. She wants this. For the first time in so long, she has complete confidence with her decisions and the decisions she is about to make and she can say, with certainty, that she wants to have sex with Jon. Right now.

 

…

 

_Please, please, Brandon. Stay asleep…_

“Ohhhh,” Sansa moans into the pillow she is clutching over her face to muffle her cries.

 

Not that she has that much experience in this particular department. Jon had been the first to do this for her and the last. Ramsay had certainly never even showed any interest in even thinking about doing this. _Not_ that Sansa had ached for him to. He would probably have bitten her while down there.

 

 _Stop thinking about Ramsay, for God’s sake, Sansa!_ Her subconscious snaps at her. _Focus! Jon is going down on you right now!_

 

“Oh! Jonnnnn,” she moans again and pushes her hips upwards, feeling Jon smiling against her and his hands curling around her hips, holding her back down to the bed.

 

When has the last time been where she has felt this completely free? When has her brain been completely relaxed and free of nagging thought like it is now? The last times are probably when she was eighteen and there hadn’t been that many cares in the world.

 

Jon has already given her one orgasm and now, she is feeling the second wash over her. No, not wash. Absolutely crash. Every nerve in her body sparks and ignites and they all seem to explode all at once. She is aware she’s moaning loudly into the pillow and her thighs are pressing against Jon’s ears, but she can stop herself from doing neither. She feels as if her body is going to tremble right off the bed though she knows that she’s secure and even if she wasn’t, Jon will never let her fall.

 

As she begins to become aware of things around her, her body still trembling with the slightest lingering quakes, she can feel Jon still licking her, moaning softly to himself as if he has never tasted anything more delicious than her.

 

“Jon,” she moans and moving the pillow aside, her hands run through his black curls – loose from his bun – and she gently pushes on his head. “You’re going to kill me,” she then informs him.

 

Jon lifts his head – finally – from between her legs and he gives her a little smirk. Sansa can see the way his beard is glistening. From _her_. Glistening because of _her_. He is still fully clothed and Sansa is completely naked and that doesn’t seem fair to her in the least. She’s still trying to believe that she actually is okay with being completely naked in front of him. In front of anyone, really. She had just gotten a true good look at all of her scars that morning in the bathroom before her shower and now she’s here, splayed out, completely exposed on her bed, for Jon to look and see every inch of her.

 

And it’s so strange because Sansa lays there and she doesn’t feel the need to grab the nearest blanket and hide.

 

Instead, Jon stands at the foot of her bed, staring at her flushed and still-panting body with his dark eyes, and for the first time in such a long time, Sansa feels beautiful.

 

“We don’t have to do anything more today, Sansa,” Jon cuts into her thoughts. “I will gladly get back to licking you and eating you until you pass out.”

 

Sansa flushes at just the mere thought of that. “As wonderful as that sounds, I’d rather have you up here with me.”

 

Jon pauses, studying her, as if seeing if that is what she truly wants and he finally must believe her because he begins to undress himself. Sansa is unapologetic in pushing herself up onto her elbows and watching him do so. He sees her unabashedly watching and she gives him a smile and Jon smiles a little, too, shaking his head slightly, and Sansa hears herself giggling.

 

His body is as beautiful as she remembers. And she definitely remembers. Many nights have been spent over the past few years, dreaming of lying with Jon Snow again. Even as she told herself that she completely hated him, she still had dreams about him more times than not.

 

“I can do that,” Sansa offers as Jon rips the condom open himself and he rolls it into his cock.

 

“If you do, you will have to settle for my face back between your thighs because I’ll be completely useless to you,” Jon responds and Sansa smiles and lays down flat on the bed again as Jon slowly comes to lay on top of her.

 

He props himself on his arms on either side of her head and he looks down into her face. Sansa slowly lifts her hands and touch his cheeks and then slide them down to touch his neck and then further down, his chest. Jon closes his eyes for a moment; as if he is reveling in her touch, and when he opens them again, Sansa smiles faintly.

 

She knows they probably don’t have that much time. Brandon has been napping for a while now and he will more than likely wake up sooner rather than later and yet, she doesn’t want to rush this. She wants to stay with Jon in her bed with him like for a very long time.

 

“I can’t believe I’m here,” he whispers. He shakes his head. “I thought after what your dad told you… I thought that’d be it. I thought that you would never want to be alone with me again.”

 

Sansa lifts her head from her pillow as her hands gently guide Jon’s head down and she kisses him softly. “I love you,” she says to him softly, her eyes staring into his once their lips part. “And being with you and you being with me and Brandon…” she pauses and takes a deep breath as if she needs the time to gather strength or collect her thoughts, but she needs to do neither. “It’s all I want, Jon.”

 

Jon stares at her, her words settling over him, and then, he seems to collapse on top of her. Sansa laughs softly as Jon buries his face to the side of her throat and begins kissing her; licking and sucking the skin gently. Her laugh soon turns into a quiet moan, her fingers returning to combing through his curls.

 

“I want you,” he murmurs into her jaw. “I want you so bad. It’s driving me mad.”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh at that and Jon’s lips curve into a smile against her skin. “Wooing me with Beatles lyrics in bed?” Sansa teases him.

 

Jon lifts his head and looks down to her face. “Wooing you? I thought I was well on the way to the fucking you phase.”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to reply – but with what, she’s honestly not entirely sure – but then Jon gently moves one of her legs further apart and then, with that hand, he begins to guide himself inside of her. It has been since before Brandon was born that she has had sex and she expects Jon to have difficulty. But he doesn’t at all. He slides in slowly, and carefully, and Sansa moans out – only reminding herself to be quiet when he’s pushed himself all of the way in and he remains still for a moment. As it had felt all of those years ago, it feels like that now.

 

Sansa has always felt that hers and Jon’s bodies were meant to fit together.

 

“Fuck,” Jon swears softly. “Sansa…” he breathes her name and he kisses her softly on the lips. “Are you alright?”

 

She’s fairly certain that alright doesn’t even begin to cover it. Jon is inside of her. After all of this time, he’s back inside of her. _Where he belongs_. And it feels as amazing and perfect as it did when she was eighteen and he twenty and both were making their fumbling moves, trying to learn one another.

 

“Please move, Jon,” Sansa says, not caring that she’s sounding quite needy right now. “Brandon will wake up soon.”

 

“Right,” Jon gives a nod and she almost laughs, but then, Jon draws his hips back before pushing once again inside of her in that slow, _full_ pace of his and instead of laughing, she moans again – softly this time – her eyes sliding shut and as her head tilts backwards, arching her neck, Jon takes it as an invitation and begins kissing and sucking the delicate skin now exposed to him.

 

She moans again and again and lifts her legs to wrap around his waist and Jon moans now, too, as his pace remains strong and steady – still moving slowly, but not slowly enough to torture her. Slowly as if he wants to savor this. Her fingers try to grip the skin on his back, but it’s too tight across his muscles and is now beaded with sweat and her hands, instead, curve around his biceps, whispering his name and moaning out softly, feeling every inch of him enter her again and again, connecting their bodies as close as two human bodies can be connected.

 

After Ramsay, she has thought that sex would absolutely terrify her, but she should have known. When it comes to sex and being with Jon like this and having sex with Jon, she can never be afraid. Jon will always protect her and Jon will always keep her safe.

 

He has proven that to her in a way a person never should have to, but nonetheless, it’s the way he has and how can Sansa ever forget or doubt any of his feelings ever again for her? His love for her? She can only hope that he knows just how much she loves him, too.

 

Faster and faster. Jon is chasing after his own end and his hand dives between their bodies to find her clit, wanting to help her find her end, too, and it rushes upon her much sooner than she has been expecting. Her fingers dig into Jon’s skin as she tosses her head back and lets out a soft cry, her body tensing as the orgasm hits. And as she begins shaking, she can hear Jon grunting in her ear and then he goes completely still on top of her as he empties himself into the condom.

 

A thought lingers in her mind as to what it would be like if Jon came inside of her just then without any sort of protection. She wonders what it would be like to have Jon’s child with Jon at her side; to have a brother or sister for Brandon and to have a baby with a man in her life who is her true partner and who wants to be with her through every step of the way. Every sleepless night and awful smelling diaper and every new tooth and vaccination.

 

A thought lingers in her mind of what it would be like to marry Jon. It’s a thought that she would have so often when she was younger and those thoughts have become more frequent in her mind over the past few months, but now, their bodies – slightly sticky with sweat – are crushed together and both are panting, trying to catch their breath, and the thoughts come rushing into her mind like a bull racing out of a paddock. And once a bull is out, it’s hard to get him fenced in again.

 

“Sansa,” Jon inhales and exhales her name at the same time and Sansa, her eyes closed, turns her nose and nuzzles it again his jaw line, smiling as his beard even tickles the tip of her nose. “Sansa,” he pulls his head back so his face is above hers and they can look into one another’s eyes. “Sansa, I want to marry you.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never consider writing smut to be a strength of mine so I hope this wasn't too terrible. Thank you a thousand times for reading!


	30. Twenty-Eight

…

 

**Twenty-Eight.**

Sansa doesn’t even get a chance to completely register the words he had just said in her mind before Jon is pushing away from her, holding himself up on his hands above her.

 

“Shit, I didn’t mean that,” he shakes his head rapidly.

 

Sansa’s heart clenches. “You didn’t?” She whispers.

 

“No. I mean, yes, I meant that I want to marry you, but no, I didn’t mean to do it like this. I have a ring to give you. I wanted to talk to your parents and Robb before-”

 

“You have a ring?” Sansa asks and she’s still whispering, a fist slowly closing around her heart once again, and she’s trying to decide whether she has fallen asleep after sex and is now dreaming.

 

He has a ring? He’s been planning on asking to marry her? For how long? _When_ did he know he wanted to propose? So much has happened – both in Sansa’s life and between her and Jon – in the past few months, she tries to think during which event would Jon think it was best to propose to her.

 

Maybe after their first date of Nico’s and record shopping. Or maybe even before that when he came over to a PJ day and they finally talked and listened to _Rubber Soul_ and ate chicken noodle soup with Brandon. Marrying Jon has been a thought Sansa has had in her mind for _years_. She honestly hasn’t known that it’s been one in his mind as well.

 

She tries not to think – again – on just how much time has been wasted between them already.

 

“Yes,” Jon answers her question.

 

“When did you buy a ring?” She asks, lifting a hand then to touch the scar at his right eyebrow.

 

She keeps meaning to ask when and where he got this, but she knows she will have plenty of other times to ask him about it. Not right now though. Now, there is something much bigger to talk about.

 

“That afternoon, when I called you and you put me on speaker and I walked through Mordane’s with you and Brandon,” Jon says. “I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen years old, I finally made a move when I was twenty and managed to fuck it all up, but you still decided to give me another chance. And just being with you and Brandon as you shopped for fabrics, that’s all I want for the rest of my life.”

 

Sansa feels tears building in her eyes and she closes her eyes in an attempt to keep any from slipping out. And then, with her eyes still closed, she slides her arms around Jon’s neck and pulls down onto him until she feels his lips on hers.

 

This has to be a dream. All of it. She just can’t believe how many good things are happening to her at once and how happy she feels in this moment. She used to believe in dreams coming true and happily-ever-after endings, but then, so many awful things happened to her, one after another, and she stopped believing any of those things; especially any of those things ever happening to her.

 

Brandon was the best thing in her life for so long and he still is. That will never change. Brandon will always be her whole life. But now, she’s here, in her bed, with Jon, naked with Jon, and Jon is talking about rings and proposing and marrying her and so much of it just feels surreal to her.

 

“Mama! I’m up!” Brandon chooses that second to announce from the next bedroom.

 

Sansa feels Jon’s lips curving into a smile against her own and she smiles, too. With one more kiss, he pulls his head back and Sansa opens her eyes, finding him looking at her, still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and she can’t help, but lift her fingertips and touch those crinkles for herself.

 

“I suppose that’s something I should get used to?” Jon asks and Sansa knows he’s asking because he doesn’t want to maybe overstep any invisible line she has laid out and assume anything.

 

Sansa can’t see any line though.

 

With a smile and nod of her head, she answers. “Yes.”

 

She means that word in so many ways and Jon looks at her for a moment and then he lowers his head and kisses her once more. And Sansa can’t help, but smile against his lips because she knows he knows.

 

…

 

Jon and Sansa get themselves dressed once again and as Jon slips down the hallway before Brandon can see him to flush the condom down the toilet, Sansa goes into Brandon’s bedroom, the little boy standing up, his curls in complete disarray and a mark from his blanket on his cheek.

 

“Sleep well, sweetling?” Sansa asks as she hefts him up into her arms and kisses his cheek before setting him down onto his feet once more.

 

“I go pee!” Brandon informs her and Sansa laughs.

 

“Go on then,” she tells him with a light pat on his rump and Brandon scurries from his room.

 

“Jon!” Sansa then hears him exclaim from the hallway just a second later and Sansa steps from the room to see that Jon has just stepped from the bathroom and Brandon has collided into his legs.

 

“Hey, Little Stark,” Jon greets him as he always does.

 

Sansa feels that same fist slowly squeezing her heart as Brandon quickly recovers and then wraps both arms around one of Jon’s legs, squeezing it tight, and Jon smiles down at her, ruffling the boy’s own curly hair. Sansa finds herself wondering that if she and Jon _do_ have a child together, will the child’s hair be curly, too? Brandon inherited the auburn curls from the Tully side of genetics, but will her child with Jon inherit dark curly hair from the Snow side? Or will they have a little family of auburn-haired children with Jon as the odd one out?

 

She finds herself _really_ wanting to find out.

 

“Go to the bathroom, Brandon,” Sansa reminds him. “Jon is spending the rest of the day with us.”

 

Brandon gives Jon’s leg one more squeeze and then he hurries into the bathroom, pushing down his pajama pants and diaper before he even gets to his little toilet, nearly tripping on the way.

 

Jon, smiling, closes the space between himself and Sansa. “Want to help me with the hippo?” He asks.

 

Sansa nods and smiles and then, not able to help herself, she puts her hands on his cheeks and gives him a kiss. She feels as if she can kiss him whenever she wants and she supposes that she can. Jon has told her what he wants and she has told him what she wants and the only direction she can see them going in from this point on is forward. Together.

 

“Actually, let me change,” Sansa says. “I don’t want to freeze out there.”

 

“Isn’t that going against the rules of PJ day?” Jon asks, teasing.

 

“You’re not in your pajamas,” she points out to him.

 

“I don’t have my pajamas here.”

 

Sansa pauses for a moment and then shrugs ever so slightly. “Maybe you can bring some over and leave them here. Just in case,” she says and then, without waiting for a reply from him on that, she turns and goes back into her bedroom, closing the door so she can change into something a little warmer.

 

…

 

Brandon is at the front window, standing on his toes, and watching Jon and Sansa outside. Both have bundled themselves up once again and a light snow shower is falling as they go to his pickup truck in the driveway. Jon has put a blue tarp over the stone statue and he pushes it back now and Sansa looks at the hippo once more, shaking her head in amazement.

 

“I can’t believe you did this,” she says and Jon comes to stand next to her, lowering the back hatch. “It’s too much, Jon.”

 

“I don’t think so,” he disagrees simply.

 

“What are you going to do for his next birthday? Get him a real hippo? _Please_ don’t get him a real hippo.”

 

Jon just smiles and kisses the side of her head, which she can’t feel through her knit hat, but it doesn’t matter because she knows what his kiss feels like and she smiles.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Sansa asks as Jon carefully grabs two of the stone hippo’s legs and gently pulls it to the edge of the truck.

 

“Yes,” he answers without pause.

 

“Did you really start smoking again?” Jon stops and looks at her. “I know it’s random…” she begins to say.

 

“But it’s important to you,” Jon finishes for her. He then shakes his head. “Not as much as I used to before I quit the first time when you asked me to. I really only smoke when-” he abruptly cuts himself off then and looks down her short driveway towards the street. A plow is coming down, pushing the gathering snow against the curbs.

 

“When?” Sansa tries to prompt, watching him, and lays a mitten-clad hand gently on his arm.

 

Jon looks back to her. “When I really need a drink.”

 

Sansa thinks on that for a moment. They haven’t talked about his drinking. Not yet. It’s something else they need to talk about, she knows. She has shown him her scars. She wants to know about all of his.

 

“Okay. Well, when that happens, you can just kiss me,” she replies with a smile and a shrug.

 

She squeezes his arm and Jon gives her a small smile, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

 

The hippo statue isn’t necessarily heavy, but it is an awkward shape and Jon does need the help to carry it into the house. Brandon is practically bouncing up and down as they bring it in through the front door and Ghost and Lady, feeding off of the little boy’s excitement, are practically dancing as well.

 

“Where do you want it?” Jon asks.

 

Sansa takes a moment to look around. The hippo hadn’t seemed that large in her parents’ living room, but her parents’ home is _so_ much larger than her. They have plenty of room to spare. Sansa, not so much. She loves her house. As she told her dad when she showed it to him the first time, yes, it’s small. But she and Brandon don’t need a ton of space. And with the sunroom that has been built for her sewing and designing, she feels like they have the perfect amount of space.

 

Of course, that was before a stone hippo statue entered their lives.

 

“Um, let’s put it in the corner,” she points to the corner next to the window where she kept her sewing machine and other sewing supplies before her sunroom was completed.

 

Jon and Sansa set it carefully down on the floor and Brandon immediately scrambles up onto it.

 

“It’s cold!” He shrieks and slides off.

 

He hurries to the couch and grabs the blanket that Sansa keeps folded and draped over the back of it and pulling it off, Brandon then drags it back to the hippo. Jon and Sansa watch, smiling, as Brandon proceeds to drape the blanket over the hippo, bundling the statue up, chattering to it in a mixture of toddler speak and actual words.

 

Sansa turns her head to look at Jon and she’s slightly surprised to find that he’s already looking at her. Without a word, Jon turns towards her the rest of the way and sliding his arms around her waist, he pulls her in close to him and he dips his face down, capturing her lips with his.

 

After a moment, he pulls his head back and Sansa takes a moment for her eyes to open.

 

She smiles at him and Jon easily matches it with one of his own.

 

“Do you want a drink or a cigarette?” She wonders.

 

Jon smirks though and shakes his head. “I want this. Exactly this.”

 

Sansa smiles, feeling warm all over – inside and out. This isn’t a dream. This is real. This is _her_ life now. Brandon and Jon and her – all together. And before she can start crying, now feeling completely overwhelmed at all of it, she steps back into Jon and presses her face to his throat and Jon hugs her tightly and presses her lips to a head.

 

…

 

The song begins for the fifth time – the _Abbey Road_ cd on repeat in the stereo in the living room – and Sansa let’s out a deep sigh. Jon snickers softly, standing still, as she wraps the tape measure around his chest and then steps away to write that measurement down.

 

_Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer,_

_Came down upon her head._

_Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer,_

_Made sure that she was dead!_

“It’s not funny, Jon,” Sansa frowns at him, coming back to measure his waist and then his hips.

 

Jon smirks. “Why don’t you just turn it off?” He asks.

 

“Bang! Bang!” Brandon exclaims from the living room.

 

“You try turning off a song a three-year-old wants to listen to. I would _love_ to watch you,” Sansa says only partially teasing him. She kneels down to measure his inseam. She has had him leave his boots on and from the outside of his thigh, she measures from the beginning of his crotch to where his pants should end when he’s wearing shoes.

 

“Not exactly the most kid-friendly Beatle song,” Jon notes after a moment of really listening to the lyrics.

 

“Bang! Bang!” Brandon exclaims once more with the chorus.

 

Sansa stands with a smile and goes to her drafting table, to write down the measurement. She wonders how measuring him for his inseam would have gone _before_ they had made love again.

 

“I take comfort in the fact that he really doesn’t understand what he’s hearing,” Sansa says and then turns back towards him. “Now bend your elbow back behind you and put your hand on your waist,” she says.

 

Jon does what she says and after adjusting it just a bit, Sansa takes that measurement as well. Then, with the yellow measuring tape around her neck, she goes the trunk she has on the floor, where she keeps all of her bolts of fabrics. Kneeling down, she pushes open the lid and takes out the black wool sweater and black slacks she has already finished for Brandon.

 

“Now, imagine yours looking like this. Only bigger,” she turns and stands again, smiling at him.

 

Jon smiles as well and takes the small clothes from Sansa, looking at them both. He shakes his head. “You’re so good at this.”

 

Sansa blushes faintly at that. “You don’t think they’ll be a little plain?” She asks.

 

Jon instantly shakes his head. “Not at all,” he steps into her and wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand still holding the clothes. “Are you going to sew lining into my sweater, too, so it doesn’t itch?”

 

“If you’re a good boy, I will,” Sansa teases with a smile.

 

That gets her an actual Jon grin and he leans in, kissing the side of throat, and Sansa’s eyes flutter shut, but when they can hear _Maxwell’s Silver Hammer_ begin to play again, Jon groans and Sansa laughs softly.

 

“That’s it,” Jon grumbles, handing Sansa back Brandon’s clothes, and then he’s heading from the sunroom, through the kitchen and into the living room. Sansa smiles as she goes to put the sweater and pants back into the trunk, hearing clearly as the song abruptly gets cut off.

 

She swears that she can _hear_ Brandon’s mouth fall open.

 

“No, Jon!” The toddler is then protesting.

 

“Why don’t we listen to something else for a little bit?” Jon asks in his best diplomatic voice. “We’ll listen to anything you want.”

 

“Maxwell!” Brandon exclaims.

 

“ _Besides_ Maxwell,” Jon fixes his previous statement.

 

Brandon doesn’t care. “Maxwell!”

 

She can hear Jon sigh and then, “Sansa!” He calls out.

 

“You’re on your own!” She calls back and bites down on her lower lip to keep from laughing.

 

She goes into the kitchen to begin preheating the oven for dinner while still listening to Jon and Brandon go back and forth in the living room, Jon nearly pleading with the boy now to listen to _anything_ else, but Brandon sticking with his Stark stubbornness and wanting only _Maxwell’s Silver Hammer_ this afternoon.

 

She wonders if this is how it could be. She wonders if this is how it _will_ be.

 

Sansa then does something that she has rarely done over the past few years. She hopes.

 

…

 

When she calls her parents, they are more than eager to come over for dinner that evening. Rickon also comes and she extends the invitation to Robb as well and she admits that she has ulterior motives. She’s hoping that they will put Brandon’s toddler bed together and take apart the crib.

 

For dinner that evening, she is making one of hers and Brandon’s favorite meals: penne pasta with tomato basil sauce and crumbled sausage, the whole thing smothered in mozzarella cheese. And as Sansa slides the dish into the oven so it can bake, she can hear the men all in Brandon’s bedroom, all assuring the others that _he_ is the one who knows exactly what he’s doing. Sansa smiles and there are so many people in her little house right now, but it’s snowing outside and already dark and soon, it will smell like dinner and it’s pretty much perfect in her opinion.

 

Turning back to the table, Catelyn has finished preparing their cups of tea and Sansa goes to join her, both women sitting down and with their hands cupped around their mugs, they take their first sips.

 

“It has been so long since I’ve seen you this happy,” Catelyn comments with her own smile.

 

Sansa smiles as well, having absolutely no reason to deny what she is feeling. “I’m so happy,” she agrees with a slight nod of her head. But then, the smile begins to slowly fade. “It’s scaring me.”

 

Catelyn reaches over and covers one of Sansa’s hands with her own. “Let yourself have this, Sansa. No one deserves to be happy more than you.”

 

“What… what they did, for me and for Brandon, what you all did…” Sansa trails off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. She knows they might not have been in the room, but she knows that her mother and Arya had been just as involved as the others in what happened to Ramsay.

 

Catelyn doesn’t say anything and just squeezes her hand.

 

Sansa takes another sip of her tea and then takes a deep breath.

 

She doesn’t know what she would do without her mom these past few years. Just not helping with Brandon and teaching her how to be a mom when Sansa had no idea if she could actually be one, but for just being with her ever since she came back home; being at her side for every breakdown and nightmare, holding her tight and promising her everything would be alright in that way that only mothers can.

 

Moving out of her parents’ house a few months ago, Sansa had wanted freedom for both herself and her son. She had thought that moving into her own space, she could finally try to begin her life again. And she has slowly tried to pull herself away from Catelyn; thinking that her mom has been stifling her, and maybe she has in little ways, but now, Sansa can never blame Catelyn for that. What had happened with Sansa and Ramsay, and then what the family had done to Ramsay _for_ Sansa, if Catelyn needs to keep her close, Sansa understands. Catelyn had almost lost her. They all had almost lost her and as a mother now, Sansa can’t imagine how it must have felt for Catelyn to witness her daughter over the past few years.

 

Maybe Catelyn needs as much help as she does to move past Ramsay.

 

“I’m seeing a therapist every Friday,” Sansa blurts out. “I’ve been going for a few weeks now and she’s… she’s already helped me so much.”

 

“Oh, Sansa,” Catelyn beams and squeezes her hand. “That is so wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

 

“And I…” Sansa pauses to swallow and force herself to keep looking at her mother. She’s an adult. She should be an adult enough to look her mother in the eye. “I was wondering if you would want to come to a session with me? We could do a session together and we could… talk.”

 

She hates how unsure she sounds right now even though she really does think this would be a good thing for both of them. Having an independent third party present, she and Catelyn could say whatever they have been holding onto for these past few years; she imagines her mother has quite a bit to say.

 

Catelyn looks at her for a moment and then slowly, she pulls her hand back. Leaning back in her chair, she cups both hands around her mug and takes another sip of tea. “Yes. And I think we should bring your father as well.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tormund and Sansa together in the next chapter because I have missed them. And as always, THANK YOU an infinity amount of times for the love you are showing this story.


	31. Twenty-Nine

…

 

**Twenty-Nine.**

“Should I stop?” Rickon asks, jogging in place, turning back to look at them.

 

Sansa shakes her head. “Go on! I’ll stay with him!”

 

Rickon gives a nod and turning back forward, he continues on down the path.

 

“Your brother is evil,” Tormund wheezes from beside her, his hands on his knees.

 

Sansa does her best to not smile because she had been in Tormund’s position just a few weeks ago. “He has a big meet in Karhold coming up. His last meet of the season and it’s a very big one for him.”

 

Tormund turns his head to look at her and gives her a grin. “Noticed you didn’t argue the evil part.”

 

Sansa laughs. “There’s a water fountain up ahead. I need a drink, too.”

 

“You know,” Tormund says, as they begin walking down the path, Rickon becoming a dot in the distance. “This is doing nothing for my sobriety. If anything, I’m imagining a tall pint of beer waiting at the finish line for me. Frosty and the foam spilling over-”

 

“Stop,” Sansa frowns at him. “We ran almost two miles today. And for that, we’re going to the bakery after we get our drinks of water. _Not_ the pub. Everyone knows cake is better than beer anyway.”

 

“I don’t know about everyone,” Tormund muses more to himself. “So, lovely Sansa…” he trails off with a grin and Sansa gives him a suspicious look before bending over, holding her braid out of the way as she begins taking a drink of water from the water fountain. “I caught Jon whistling yesterday during work. Jon Snow. _Whistling_. Which only means one thing. He got himself laid.”

 

Sansa promptly begins choking on her mouthful of water. She bolts upright and manages to swallow it down without spitting it up everywhere and she then smacks a hand against his chest. Tormund just laughs and she steps aside so he can take his own drink of water.

 

She wants to be embarrassed and cross with Tormund for saying such a thing and yet, the idea of Jon actually whistling, it makes her want to giggle. She won’t dare in front of Tormund however.

 

When he finishes his own drink, he straightens up and gives her a grin. Sansa rolls her eyes and he lets out a laugh. “So, it was good, huh?” He teases as he wipes water droplets from his beard.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about or even inferring,” Sansa replies, her chin in the air.

 

Tormund just laughs again; this one louder and echoing across the quiet park.

 

“Don’t be crude, Tormund,” Sansa gives him a frown she doesn’t really mean.

 

“It’s the only way I know how to be, love,” he says with a wink thrown in for good measure. “Fine. Don’t give me the details. I’ll get them from Jon.”

 

“Good luck,” Sansa quips at him with her own small smile.

 

Even if this time around, their relationship is as far from some secret as it can be, she knows Jon isn’t the sort to participate in “locker room talk”. She has complete faith that what happens between her and Jon in the bedroom will stay right there.

 

“We’ll see,” Tormund just says, still grinning. “He’s happy and when people are happy, they like to talk about why they’re happy. And he’s such a sod over you.”

 

Sansa smiles faintly to herself at that, but doesn’t comment.

 

“Why does Rickon insist on running like a mad man?” Tormund swiftly switches topic. “Walking is lovely.”

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Sansa smiles and then inhales a deep breath of the cold North morning air.

 

She won’t tell Tormund this, and she certainly won’t tell Rickon this – knowing that her youngest brother will more than likely gloat about how right he was – but Sansa has found herself really enjoying running. She’s not able to do it probably as much as she should and she’s still not entirely great at it yet and she’s still learning how to breathe in the constant Northern cold air, but there _is_ something almost wonderful about it. When she runs, she is _just_ thinking about running. It has offered a distraction from life that she never would have expected.

 

Some mornings, she is tempted to drop Brandon off early at daycare so she can run Winterfell’s campus when it’s not nearly as populated with students. But for the time being, she runs on her lunch hour when she’s able to.

 

She has these images; images she doesn’t allow herself to think of _too_ often, but she does think of them from time to time. Early mornings, getting up early and getting herself dressed in her running clothes. Leaning over and giving Jon a kiss on his cheek as he continues dozing in _their_ bed. She goes running around the neighborhood and when she gets back home, Jon and Brandon are both up now, both in the kitchen, and Jon is making Brandon his breakfast.

 

Sansa thinks she has done a good job raising Brandon on her own. A darn good job. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t think about what it would be like to have a partner. A true partner; someone who is there to help her with Brandon and who she can talk to about her day each evening. She doesn’t know how to approach that with Jon though. He loves her and she loves him and she doesn’t doubt that. She doesn’t doubt, either, that Jon has bought a ring and wants to marry her.

 

She just doesn’t want Jon to think that she only wants to be with him because she wants her son to have a father. That’s not the truth – _at all_ – and she’s nervous about ever asking Jon for anything when it comes to Brandon because despite everything that has happened between them, Jon still has no obligation to either her or to Brandon and she doesn’t want to pressure Jon into thinking that he does.

 

“You’re happy, too,” Tormund breaks through her thoughts. “You can’t hide it from me.”

 

Sansa smiles at that. “Why would I want to hide it?” She wonders.

 

“Don’t ask me to explain the inner workings of your mind, love,” Tormund says. “Women have always confused me. Especially gorgeous ones such as yourself.”

 

Sansa blushes despite herself. “I _am_ happy,” she says. “Ridiculously happy,” she then amends because that’s far closer to the truth then just simply saying that she’s happy.

 

“Good,” Tormund says firmly. “You deserve it. You and Jon both.”

 

“And what makes you think Jon and I are happy because of one another?” She asks with a cheeky smile and Tormund lets out his loud, boisterous laugh at that, causing Sansa to let out a laugh of her own.

 

They exit the park and come to a stop at the corner, Sansa pressing the pedestrian button and both waiting for the light to change.

 

“Was Jon really whistling?” Sansa asks before she can stop herself.

 

Tormund gives her a grin. “Like an idiot,” he confirms. “Me, Val and Edd were relentless the rest of the day.”

 

“I’m sure you were,” Sansa smiles and bumps him playfully with her elbow.

 

The light changes and Tormund and Sansa cross the street, heading into the downtown Wintertown district. They are nearing _Grenn’s Used Books and Records_ and Sansa put a hand on Tormund’s arm.

 

“Do you mind?” She asks, slowing down as they are almost upon the store.

 

“Course not, love. Grenn has an adult section in the back,” Tormund informs her and Sansa both laughs and groans at that while not at all surprised that Tormund knows that.

 

Sure enough, inside, Tormund heads to the back of the store and Sansa heads towards the records. As she flips through the “B” records, she feels her phone buzzing from the inside pocket of her track jacket. It’s not necessarily comfortable to run with her cell phone, but she will never _not_ run with it.

 

No matter where she is or what she is doing, she only wants to be a phone call away from Brandon.

 

Pulling it out, Sansa sees that it’s Jon calling.

 

“Hi,” she answers with a smile.

 

“Hey,” Jon’s warm voice fills her ear and she can tell that he’s smiling, too. “How was the run?”

 

“Tormund almost died, but he survived.”

 

“Damn,” Jon grumbles at that and Sansa laughs. “Are you on your way to your parents’?”

 

“Eventually. Right now, Tormund and I are in _Grenn’s_ and then we’re going to go eat cake. Where are you? Would you be like to meet us?”

 

Jon pauses and she can imagine that he’s looking over the work of whatever site he is on that morning. Tormund may have the morning off, but that is because that all of the jobs going on at the moment are sort of in a holding pattern – waiting for building materials to arrive from their suppliers – and Jon’s company may be a successful one, but it’s still small and he can’t always afford to pay his workers for standing around on a job site, not able to actually work.

 

Jon, though, is always at a job site whether there’s actually things for him to do or not.

 

“I don’t think I can…” he then answers, reluctantly.

 

“That’s alright,” Sansa smiles, hoping she knows that he can tell she means it. “Would you be able to come over after-”

 

“Yes,” Jon answers before she can even finish asking the question. “Do you need me to bring anything?”

 

“Just yourself and Ghost. I’ll make dinner for you, me and Brandon,” Sansa says, finishing with one bin of “B” records and moving onto the next. She begins to think of what she has at home in her kitchen that she can make them all for dinner. “Maybe you could…” she begins to ask before she can stop, but the question trails off because she has absolutely no idea how to finish it.

 

Jon is quiet, waiting patiently for her to continue.

 

Sansa sighs softly and shakes her head even though Jon obviously can’t see her. She stops looking through the records – though she can’t actually see any in front of her at the moment – and she swallows a thickness in her throat. She tells herself to not be nervous. She tells herself that there is no reason to be nervous.

 

“Tonight, when you come over… would you maybe want to bring your pajamas?” She manages to get out.

 

She is actually quite proud of herself for being able to get that out.

 

She hadn’t expected there to be silence on the other end of the phone, but silence is exactly what she gets. For a moment, she wonders if Jon had heard her clearly and she looks to her phone to make sure that she hasn’t lost the call. But no. The call is still taking place and Jon is just silent. And though they have made love again, maybe he thinks they’re not ready for sleepovers. She didn’t think she would be ready for such a thing either – especially with Brandon there to ask questions – but in her mind, she thinks that this will happen sooner or later. She and Jon are building something together and this time, she can’t see anyone or anything able to knock it down.

 

Eventually, Jon will be spending the night. He has already told her that he wants to marry her and surely, they will be sharing a bed when that happens with Brandon in the same house.

 

It’s quick to take this next step, but Sansa is ready for it.

 

Obviously, however, Jon is not. Apparently, having sex during naptime is very different than being there when Brandon goes to sleep at night and still being there the next morning when he wakes up.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, it still silent on the other end. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

 

Jon clears his throat and finally speaks. “I just think, with Brandon, it’s not…”

 

“It’s alright, Jon,” she is quick to assure him and she’s glad he can’t see her face. She feels the flames of mortification burning her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

 

“No, I’m glad you did. It’s just-”

 

“I understand. I should go,” she quickly says.

 

“Sansa, wait. Don’t go,” Jon says.

 

“It’s alright. Really, Jon. I’ll see you later for dinner.”

 

She ends the call as quickly as she possibly can before Jon can say another word. She can just imagine what he is thinking of her right now. That was terrible judgment on her part and she should have known better. How, she’s not sure, but nonetheless, she should have known better. What kind of mom is she? Inviting her boyfriend to spend the night with her young son in the next bedroom? She’s awful. So awful, she nearly wants to start crying. Jon is more mindful of her own son than she is.

 

“Alright,” Tormund announces himself with a clap of his hands, coming to her at the records. “Grenn hasn’t gotten anything new in the cheerleader category from the last time I was here. How’s the record situation?”

 

Sansa’s not entirely sure what her facial expression is, but she knows it must be something because as Tormund comes to her, his smile fades and his eyebrows furrow with concern.

 

“What’s happened, love? No Beatles? Only Ringo Starr solo albums?” He asks and he is attempting to make jokes, but his face remains far too serious.

 

Sansa shakes her head, staring down at her phone. Jon is calling again. She doesn’t answer this time.

 

“I’m a terrible mom and I think I just mucked it all up with Jon,” She says and takes a series of deep breaths.

 

“How did you lose your mind in the five minutes it took me to leave your side, go look at some very well-done adult films, and come back?” Tormund asks her.

 

Sansa just shakes her head and Tormund wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side so firmly, she nearly loses her footing and stumbles into his body.

 

“Must I remind you that Jon was _whistling_? Jon Snow. Whistling. Because of you. Let me remind you then. Jon Snow was whistling because of you.”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh then even though she would have thought that laughing is the last thing she wants to do.

 

“And you’re also the best mom I’ve ever seen,” Tormund continues. “Which I will deny if ever confronted by my own mother or yours.”

 

Again, Sansa lets out another laugh.

 

“Come on now. All of that running has deprived your brain of oxygen and you need cake,” Tormund says. “Yeah?”

 

Sansa nods and tilts her head up to look at him with a small smile. “Yeah.”

 

Months ago, she had simply known Tormund Giantsbane as one of Jon’s employees who shamelessly flirted with her whenever an opportunity to do so presented itself. She never would have ever thought that Tormund Giantsbane would become one of her closest friends, but here they are now and she doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

 

…

 

Brandon has been exceptionally hyper ever since she picked him up from her parents’ house earlier that afternoon and leaving him in his outer layers, she has let him out into the backyard where he and Lady play in the snow. Sansa, finally having drawn a sketch of a dress she likes for her parents’ anniversary dinner, just next weekend, that she likes, she works in her sunroom, carefully cutting the fabric that she had bought when she and Brandon had gone to Mordane’s earlier that week and begins draping it over the dress form, watching son and dog with one eye.

 

That night, for dinner, she has decided to keep things simple. Breakfast; which she’ll start making when Jon comes. If he still comes. He said that he would see her tonight – even after she suggested he spend the night and he had rejected that as kindly as he could. Sansa still doesn’t want to think of that though. It’s embarrassing.

 

Brandon is laughing so loudly, Sansa can hear him through the windows and she turns to watch, smiling, as Brandon and Lady both seem to compete for who can get the most snow on them. He is going to be frozen through and she really should get him back inside. She’ll make them both steaming cups of hot chocolate and curl up on the couch for a bit before Jon comes over and she starts making dinner. After picking Brandon up from her parents’, she had made a quick stop at the market and has bought fresh buttermilk to make pancakes for them that evening. Brandon’s eyes had lit up when she had told him.

 

Just as Sansa goes to the back door to call both Brandon and Lady back inside, her cell phone rings and she goes back to her drafting table to collect. It’s Jon and she takes a deep breath when she sees his name. For some reason, her stomach is already knotted tightly as she answers the call.

 

“Hi,” she says, trying to get herself to relax; having no idea why she would be nervous or anxious.

 

“Hey.”

 

The instant she hears his voice, she knows something has happened. She can’t place it, but she gets the sense that he’s about to tell her something and he’s not looking forward to telling her.

 

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

 

“Not really,” he answers truthfully and before she can stop herself, Sansa holds her breath. “I’m not going to be able to make it over tonight.”

 

Sansa’s stomach subsequently drops to her feet. “Oh,” she manages to say while internally, she’s screaming at herself for being such an idiot. She never should have invited him to spend the night. It’s too soon and now, she’s gone and made him uncomfortable and he doesn’t even want to come for dinner.

 

“I’ve been waiting for this installation to arrive all day and it’s just _now_ gotten here and we’re supposed to get all of that snow tonight… I want to get it installed and then I want to at least get some temporary walls up… I’ve already called the others. This is going to be an all-night job,” Jon explains.

 

“Alright,” Sansa says and tries to keep her voice even. It’s a perfectly logical explanation as to why he can’t come over tonight and she doesn’t want to imagine Jon lying to her because he just doesn’t want to come over for dinner tonight. “Well, stay warm. The temperature is supposed to really drop off later.”

 

Jon is quiet for a moment. “Sansa, I _do_ want to come over and see you and Brandon.”

 

“I know you do,” Sansa is quick to reply. “I shouldn’t have asked you to spend the night. I… I shouldn’t have. It’s too soon,” she says in a rush, shaking her head.

 

“I’m glad you did,” he says softly. “I don’t want you to keep things from me, Sansa. Things you want. And I… I don’t know why I said what I did. I would love to spend the night. Sleeping in the same bed as you and waking up next to you. I’ve dreamt of that for years now. It’s just, with Brandon…”

 

“I get it,” Sansa cuts in. “I do. I don’t know how he’d react, having you here like that.”

 

All-night sleepovers are different than just an hour or two of alone time during Brandon’s naptime and she needs to put her son before her own needs and wants. Always.

 

“I don’t want to make you feel guilty for not wanting to spend the night. I really don’t mean to,” Sansa then says, afraid that that’s exactly what she’s doing and it makes her feel even worse.

 

“You’re not.”

 

“I want _you_ to be able to tell _me_ , too, what you want.”

 

“Sansa-”

 

“I should be home all day tomorrow so if you can-”

 

“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” Jon takes his turn to cut in, promising. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too. Be safe.”

 

She ends the call and stands there for a moment, willing her stomach to loosen itself.

 

He has to work. He wouldn’t lie about that. He’s not just coming up with an excuse so he doesn’t have to come over tonight. But despite telling herself that over and over again, and despite what Tormund has told her earlier, she wonders if she really did muck it all up with Jon. He just said that he wants to know what she wants, but she can’t help, but think that from now on, she’ll just keep those things to herself.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading and please take a moment to comment! I honestly have no idea how I feel about this chapter. I was excited for it in my head, but I don't know if I translated it well onto paper.


	32. Thirty

…

 

**Thirty.**

As predicted, it snows quite a bit overnight and when Sansa looks out the window the next morning, she’s glad she has taken this week off from work so she doesn’t have to worry about shoveling the driveway enough to get the car of the garage so she won’t be late to the library.

 

They take their time. Sansa makes them a hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon and they sit in their pajamas on the couch for an episode of _Hubba Bubba Hotel_. Afterwards, Sansa decides its finally time to head outside and start shoveling. She gets herself and Brandon dressed, making sure that they are both wearing their long underwear and plenty of layers and then she bundles them both up in their outerwear.

 

Despite being so wrapped up in countless layers, the cold still smacks them in the face as they step outside. Lady stays inside because even though Sansa knows that she is a good dog and would normally stay put without a leash or fence, the last thing Sansa needs is a squirrel or stray cat to be seen and Lady will take off after it. Lady plants herself at the front window and watches them, whining, wanting to join, and Sansa promises that when they’re done shoveling, they’ll all go into the backyard for a bit.

 

If she and Brandon aren’t completely frozen through by then.

 

From the garage, Sansa gets herself a shovel and she hands Brandon his little plastic shovel and together, they begin shoveling the driveway and walkway up to their front door as well as the steps and front porch.

 

Brandon tries to help as much as he can – which, for a three-year-old, means shoveling the finest, lightest snow left behind where Sansa has just shoveled – and after finishing the porch, steps and walkway, Sansa is already feeling cold and her arms ache. But there is still the driveway to tackle and she won’t be able to get her car of the garage without shoveling at least some of the snow away.

 

She is half tempted to call her dad or one of their brothers to ask about borrowing a snow blower, but she stops herself before she can. It’s the Stark stubbornness, she knows, but she wants to do this on her own without calling someone for help. It’s her snow at her house. She’ll shovel it herself.

 

Brandon is singing “Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer!” over and over behind her as he shovels as well and Sansa can’t help, but laugh; her tiredness being forgotten for the moment as she listens to her son and Brandon laughs, too, because he likes hearing his mama laugh.

 

Both turn their heads when they hear a familiar pickup truck coming down the street and sure enough, it is Jon, pulling up to their house. Instead of parking in the driveway, he parks on the curb in front and as Brandon drops his shovel and runs as quickly as he can through the snow to go greet Jon, Sansa finds herself standing there, her hands in her mittens clutching the shovel and trying to keep her stomach from flipping around everywhere as she watches.

 

She admits that she didn’t sleep well the night before. Not at all. She tossed and turned so much, Lady had finally gotten fed up with her and had jumped down to sleep on the floor instead. Sansa tried to sleep, but of course, all she could think of was Jon. Something happened yesterday between them and now, in the morning, she’s still not sure what that something is.

 

He has brought Ghost with him and the dog is happily running around the front yard; Lady barking insanely from inside at the sight of her favorite playmate.

 

He has a shovel in one hand and Sansa’s throat clenches at the base of her throat when Brandon finally reaches him as Jon walks from his truck, up the driveway, and Jon easily swoops him up with his other arm, Jon smiling at the little boy as he does.

 

“Hi,” Jon then smiles as he comes to a stop in front of her. He leans forward then – just a little – and Sansa is the one to close the space and kiss him on the lips.

 

“Hi,” She smiles – genuinely. “You came,” she then says and she doesn’t mean to sound so surprised – and relieved – but she can hear it in her tone nonetheless and she knows that Jon can hear it, too.

 

“Is that okay?” He asks.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Need help?” He then asks.

 

“Of course,” Sansa laughs a little then and Jon smiles as well before being the one to lean in this time and kiss her. He then sets Brandon down back on his feet. “You’ve been working all night though. I can’t ask you to help me shovel,” she says.

 

“You didn’t ask if I could help. I asked you if I could help,” Jon points out to her. “I’m fine. Besides, I’m sure Brandon’s the one who’s doing all of the work anyway. Aren’t you, Little Stark?”

 

“Yep!” Brandon exclaims and both Jon and Sansa smile down to him. “Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s-”

 

“None of that now,” Jon swiftly cuts him off and Sansa lets out a laugh as Brandon frowns up at him.

 

“Silver hammer!” Brandon then shouts much louder than necessarily in defiance.

 

Jon looks to Sansa. “When we get inside, you’re hiding that CD and we’re listening to something else.”

 

“You don’t like that song?” Sansa asks innocently, doing her best to keep from smiling at him, but knowing that she’s failing miserably and Jon gives her his own smile.

 

If Jon hadn’t showed up, Sansa knows it would have taken her all morning, but with him here, the both of them working together – and Brandon trailing after both of them with his own little shovel – it takes them just about another half hour more to clear her driveway.

 

“You’re the best,” Sansa smiles at Jon, slightly out of breath and definitely ready for a nap.

 

“No, your brain’s just frozen,” Jon says, giving her a small – almost shy – smile. “Can we talk?” He asks then in a soft voice as if he doesn’t want anyone or anything, but her to hear.

 

“Yes,” Sansa instantly agrees.

 

They go into the house that feels as if it is on fire – pleasantly so – when compared to the temperature outside and Jon instantly ushers Lady and Ghost out into the backyard as Sansa first peels off all of her outer layers and then kneels down to help Brandon remove his own.

 

“Let’s go put all of this in the sunroom so it can dry in the sun,” Sansa suggests and Brandon nods, turning and scampering off into that direction.

 

Sansa drapes their coats, scarves and mittens on the ledges of the windows and the trunk and dress form as well as the drafting table so things can dry and Jon sheds his own outer layer off and Sansa does the same with his. It is so cold outside, but the sun coming in through the windows feels warm and the heat is blowing out from the vents. Their things will be dry in no time.

 

“So,” Sansa smiles, turning to look both to Jon and Brandon. “Chicken noodle soup and hot chocolate?”

 

“Yes!” Brandon exclaims, bouncing on his toes, and Sansa laughs.

 

She looks to Jon and he is smiling down at Brandon and then, feeling her eyes on him, he looks to her and his smile shrinks slightly, but it remains on his face nonetheless. Sansa can’t help the knot that appears, once again, in her stomach.

 

Jon wants to talk and she agrees that they definitely need to talk, but Sansa can’t help, but wonder if he’s going to break up with her today. She’s not sure what his reasons would be and actually, now that she’s thinking on it, she’s not even sure if there is something to break up. They have gone out on a date and have spent more and more time together and have had sex together, but she realizes that they’ve never quite just sat down with one another and have said what they are. Jon talking about having a ring and wanting to marry her, she has just assumed…

 

She and Jon need to talk. She and Jon have always been so awful at just talking with one another.

 

“I go pee!” Brandon then announces and hurries from the room.

 

The instant it is just the two of them in the room, Jon closes the space between them and pulling her into his arms, pulling her body against his, Jon kisses her. It takes Sansa’s mind a second too long, but then it catches up, and she lifts her hands, sliding them over his cheeks, kissing him in return.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon breaths, his forehead resting to hers once their lips part so they can get some air.

 

Sansa begins to shake her head – as if to tell him that it’s alright – but she stops herself. “What happened?” She asks, looking into his face as his eyes remain closed and he takes a moment.

 

He then opens them to look at her, his forehead staying to hers. “At his birthday, when you had gotten up to go to the bathroom, Brandon asked if I was his daddy.”

 

“I heard,” Sansa admits. “I didn’t hear your answer though. I’m sorry that he put you on the spot like that.”

 

“There’s no reason to apologize,” Jon shakes his head. “It did take me by surprise, but…”

 

He trails off and is quiet for the minute to follow.

 

“But?” Sansa tries to prompt.

 

Jon exhales a soft breath and then pulls his head back from hers, but his arms remain around her body, keeping her close to him. “I told him that I would talk to you about it. I told him that it’s up to you. But Sansa, I _do_ want to be his daddy. I don’t know how you feel or what you want and I didn’t want to step on your toes or confuse him… But I want to have everything with you. And Brandon. I want to come home, _here_ , after work and I want to go to sleep next to you and wake up next to you and help you with Brandon in the mornings and make breakfast and coffee and tell Lady and Ghost to shut up for barking so early in the morning and I want to _marry_ you-”

 

Jon Snow is talking so much – nearly rambling in a very un-Jon Snow-like way – and Sansa cuts him off, pressing her lips to his in a kiss. Jon reacts immediately, kissing her back with matching pressure, his arms tightening around her.

 

“Jon, I wanted to marry you when I was eighteen and that still hasn’t changed,” Sansa whispers to him once their mouths part, Jon staring into her eyes and Sansa staring right back into his. “And after everything and being back here, together, I don’t want either of us to go anywhere ever again. I want you here. With me and Brandon. With _us_. And I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but I…” she pauses for a moment and swallows nervously. “I would love it if you would want to be a part of Brandon’s life. In any capacity that you want.”

 

Jon exhales a breath she hadn’t even realized he had been holding and she smiles as Jon’s hand slips to the back of her head and he pulls her in for another kiss.

 

“Mama!” Brandon suddenly calls out. “I’m stuck!”

 

Jon and Sansa pulls their lips back from one another, both wearing smiles.

 

Sansa opens her mouth to call back to Brandon, but then she stops herself, thinking of something.

 

“Would you like Jon to help you?” She calls back.

 

A pause and then “Yes!”

 

Jon gives a rare Jon grin at that and Sansa laughs a little as Jon heads towards the bathroom and Sansa stands there for a moment, a smile across her face and a warmth staining her cheeks and she lifts her hands to rest on them.

 

She can hear Brandon and Jon in the bathroom and it might seem strange to others, but standing there, listening them, Sansa feels tears brimming in her eyes and she can’t seem to stop smiling.

 

…

 

“Such bull,” Jon grumbles, frowning at the episode they are watching – all three sitting on the sofa, Brandon sitting between them, as they eat their bowls of chicken noodle soup. Due to the amount of snow they had gotten the night before, working on any of his sites is all, but impossible for him today; not to mention that deliveries of any materials he might need have been delayed for a day or two. The day off for him is unexpected, but welcome – even if it is without pay.

 

“Such bull,” Brandon parrots him.

 

Jon winches a little and looks to Sansa, who’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry. I need to get used to that.”

 

That makes Sansa melt into a smile.

 

“But seriously. Ricky has been in the bottom how many times? And Kevin’s first time in the bottom and he goes home? I’m still not over it,” Jon says with a passion that Sansa knows most men wouldn’t have in their tone while discussing episodes of _Project Runway_.

 

“I know,” Sansa agrees. “But it really wasn’t that good of a dress. And he didn’t hem it.”

 

Jon just shakes his head and helps himself to another spoonful of soup. “I always liked your prom dress.”

 

Sansa looks at him, her eyebrow raised again. “You remember my prom dress?” She asks and she can’t help, but be surprised though she has learned now that she really shouldn’t be. She is learning that Jon has paid attention to her far longer than she ever would have thought.

 

She didn’t go to her prom junior year of high school. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and like most girls at that age, she thought her entire life was over and that no one would ever come to love her. The night of the prom, she had stayed home and had wallowed in self-pity, until Robb grabbed one arm, Arya grabbed the other and they dragged her out, where – along with Jon – they spent the night bowling.

 

Her senior year, she had gotten long over her ex and there was no way she was going to stay home and miss her _senior_ prom. There had been plenty of boys who had asked her, but she hadn’t accepted a single one of them. She and Jon had been secretly seeing one another for a couple of months at that point and there was no way she was going to go to prom if Jon wasn’t going to be her date; even though she knew that Jon would _never_ go to prom with her.

 

She and her best friend, Jeyne Pool, made the decision to go to prom together and without the whole formality of dates and wound up having one of the best nights of their life. They had laughed their way through the posed picture they got taken and the slow dances they shared together while dancing to every other fast song that was played.

 

Sansa had made her own prom dress – long and silver and form fitting – much tighter to her body than her parents had liked – but she was eighteen, she was going to her prom and she wanted to feel beautiful.

 

And her dress was loved by so many at the dance who saw it, it was the first piece Sansa ever sold. A girl who was going to be in her sister’s wedding party that summer, there was no set bridesmaid dress. “Just something silver.” The girl saw Sansa’s prom dress and wanted it instantly and Sansa made a few alterations to the girl’s own body, she sold it to her for a price her parents had helped her arrive to.

 

Sansa, not entirely sure what to say now, just gives Jon a shy smile, knowing that she’s blushing, and Jon smiles, too.

 

Before starting the next episode, Sansa sits up and slides her empty bowl onto the coffee table. She then turns so she is facing more towards Brandon and Jon.

 

“Brandon, I need to talk with you about something,” she says.

 

Brandon instantly lifts his eyes to look at her and Jon, knowing that this is about him, too, sits up as well and slides his own bowl onto the coffee table.

 

“Brandon, how would you feel if Jon was to stay with us tonight?” Sansa asks. She has learned that with her son, even though he is just three, it’s best to present things to him as easily as possible without adding too many words that would just confuse him. In other words, she knows not to beat around the bush when it comes to telling things or explaining things to Brandon.

 

Brandon’s eyes seem to instantly widen. “All night?” He asks as if he can hardly believe it.

 

“All night,” Jon confirms.

 

“Would you like that?” Sansa asks. “Or would you not like that?” Again, she keeps it simple.

 

Brandon is already nodding his head as quickly as he can. “Yes! Stay, Jon! I want Jon to stay!”

 

“And you would like to have him here for breakfast with us tomorrow morning?” Sansa continues.

 

“Yes!” Brandon exclaims. “I love Jon!”

 

And Sansa’s not entirely sure why, but tears start to flood her eyes as she smiles at her son. “I love Jon, too,” she says and moves her eyes from Brandon to Jon.

 

It looks like Jon is going to start crying, too. “I love you both,” he says and with a hand on the back of Brandon’s head, he leans in and kisses the top of his head and then leans over, giving Sansa a kiss. “I should get back to my flat and pack a bag for the night. Do you need me to pick up anything while I’m out?” He asks.

 

This is what it will be like, Sansa thinks to herself. Having a partner. Someone who can help her with everyday things instead of having everything rest solely on her shoulders. Someone who _wants_ to help.

 

“Um, I’m actually running a bit low on milk,” she tells him.

 

Jon smiles at that – as if it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. “I’ll get some on my way back.”

 

He leans in and kisses her again and this time, Sansa raises her hands to rest on his cheeks and both sets of lips curve into smiles against one another’s when they hear Brandon, still sitting between them, let out a giggle as he watches them.

 

…

 

“What do you think?” Arya asks as the stylist turns the chair away from the mirror and Arya shows off her new hairstyle to both Sansa and Catelyn.

 

Catelyn looks up from her nails and the manicurist to see the purple streaks now running through her daughter’s hair. “It’s lovely, dear.”

 

Arya grins because she knows Catelyn doesn’t mean that, but both – long ago – have learned when to pick their battles with the other. Arya then looks to Sansa, who’s in the salon chair next to her. Sansa rarely cuts her hair – except to keep it neat and trimmed – and today is no exception. She has gotten the dead ends trimmed off and then is in the middle of getting a lighter shade of red highlights through it.

 

“It _does_ look lovely,” Sansa agrees with their mom. “You somehow make purple look actually natural.”

 

Arya keeps grinning at that.

 

For Sansa’s birthday, they have done what Sansa always wants for her birthday. Keeping it low key. Usually, Catelyn will take Sansa and Arya shopping and then out to lunch. Today, she is treating the girls to a day at the salon and then they will go to Nico’s for a late lunch/early dinner. Most years, Sansa would completely forget it is her birthday if it wasn’t for Catelyn and Arya, calling, asking what she wants to do.

 

“So what is Jon doing for your birthday?” Arya asks, remaining in her chair though she’s done.

 

“Nothing,” Sansa smiles. “He gave me _Revolver_ this morning.”

 

“He gave you a gun?” Arya asks, both confused and slightly jealous.

 

“ _Revolver_. The Beatles’ album. He found a copy and he knows it’s my third favorite and a definite need for my collection,” Sansa says, looking at her reflection, watching the stylist, and smiling at the memory of waking up that morning to having Jon next to her, in bed, already awake and watching her.

 

He wished her a happy birthday with a gentle kiss on her lips and then, assuring her that he had locked the bedroom door, he proceeded to slither down her body, toss the covers back over his head and show her how happy a birthday it was.

 

Sansa obviously isn’t going to tell her mom or sister that part though.

 

“He and Brandon are going to Jon’s flat today and Jon is going to pack up some of his things and bring them over to the house. And then, tonight, he said he would have dessert ready for me since we’re going to Nico’s after this,” Sansa says.

 

“Dessert?” Arya says with a smile and waggle of her eyebrows.

 

“Don’t be crude,” Sansa immediately quips and Arya just laughs. Arya is quiet then for a few minutes, but Sansa can feel her still sitting there, looking at her. Sansa can see her from the corner of her eye. “What?” She finally asks.

 

Arya just shakes her head. “You’re really happy,” she then states as if she’s never seen Sansa in such a way.

 

And, Sansa knows, that she probably hasn’t. Not like this. It isn’t as if she hasn’t been happy over the past four years since coming home, but now – with everything happening in her life right now – Sansa knows, personally, that she has never felt like this before – before or after Ramsay.

 

This time, not only is she happy, but she’s actually looking forward to what might happen to her next.

 

“I am,” Sansa agrees. “I really am.” And though she shouldn’t move her head, she does anyway and gives Arya a quick smile before looking forward to the mirror again.

 

“Good,” Arya says with a firm nod and the points a finger at Sansa. “And if that ever changes, you let me know and I’m punching Jon in the nuts.”

 

Sansa can’t stop the loud laugh that bursts from her mouth and echoes in the salon.

 

“Arya,” Catelyn scolds her, but looking at her in the mirror, Sansa can see their mother smiling.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will have two more chapters and I am already planning a shorter follow-up told from Jon's POV. I hope you enjoyed the fluff of this chapter! Next chapter will have Sansa, Catelyn and Ned all attending a therapy session with Dr. Brienne together.


	33. Thirty-One

…

 

**Thirty-One.**

“Thank you so much for coming, Warden Stark. I know that with your schedule, it couldn’t possibly have been easy,” Dr. Tarth says, giving the family sitting in front of her a warm smile.

 

“Anything for Sansa,” Ned replies.

 

That’s putting it mildly, Sansa thinks to herself, but doesn’t dare voice that thought out loud.

 

For today’s appointment, Sansa is sitting on the sofa with her mom on one side and her dad on the other and Brienne is sitting in the chair across from them, a pad of paper on her crossed knee as usual though Sansa has learned that the therapist seems to rarely write anything down during any of their sessions.

 

“I just want to say this before we begin,” Brienne says. “Mr. And Mrs. Stark, you have raised a wonderful daughter and she is truly remarkable.”

 

Sansa blushes and Catelyn and Ned both smile. Catelyn reaches over and takes one of Sansa’s hands. Sansa grabs hold of it and doesn’t let go.

 

“Sansa and I have discussed the abuse she suffered through and most women never recognize themselves as being strong individuals for having survived it. We have been working on that through our sessions,” Brienne says and Sansa lowers her eyes to her lap as if she’s embarrassed.

 

Catelyn squeezes her hand. “She’s the strongest person I know,” she says and Sansa looks at her, unable to help, but feel completely surprised with her mother’s words.

 

Person. Not just woman, but _person_.

 

Sansa feels the breath catch in her throat.

 

“She has made quite a bit of progress over the past few weeks, but I completely agreed with her when she felt that you two needed to share at least one session with her,” Brienne continues. “Sansa’s abuse happened to her, but it involved you as well. Have you ever discussed her abuse with one another?”

 

Ned is the one to answer. “We’ve been a bit more open about it more so lately,” he answers in that politician’s way of answering the question without revealing too much of anything. “You’re right though. It was time we talked about it. What Sansa went through…” he pauses and visibly swallows. “I can’t even imagine, but her mother and I… Cat and I went through something, too.”

 

“You did,” Brienne agrees. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be, knowing what your daughter suffered through at the hands of another.”

 

Catelyn squeezes Sansa’s hand and Sansa squeezes her hand back.

 

“But you’re right,” Ned says. “She survived. She’s here. She’s one of the best moms I’ve ever seen. She has a good job and has been able to buy her own home… that bastard couldn’t stop her from doing any of these things and no one will ever be able to. I’ve always been proud of Sansa, but I didn’t know I could be as proud of her as I am now, to be honest.”

 

He looks to Sansa and gives her a firm nod of his head and Sansa feels tears in her eyes as she gives her dad a small, watery smile.

 

“I still have these moments where I blame myself for it all,” Cat admits.

 

Sansa’s head whips around to look at her. “Why?” Her eyes widen at the confession.

 

Catelyn gives her a small smile and then looks to Brienne. “Ned and I love all of our children fiercely. I don’t think any of them can ever say that we don’t. But Sansa… Sansa’s always been a little different. She’s always been, well, she’s always been a little lady; since she was three and took to following me everywhere in the house, mirroring everything I did, wanting to be just like me. I don’t want to say I love Sansa more than any of my other children, but I do love her differently.”

 

Brienne nods. “That is perfectly normal for parents of more than one child, Mrs. Stark. Children and parents share different bonds with one another.”

 

“Ever since she was a little girl, everyone always told me that she was going to grow to be as beautiful as me, but I knew that she was going to be even more beautiful than that. And look at her now,” Catelyn gives Sansa a smile and Sansa feels a fresh batch of tears rush into her eyes. “Everything Sansa has done, it’s always made me and Ned so proud and I often felt like she was the best thing I did on this earth. I still feel like that. But… I took the pictures of what that monster did to her body to show to the police and I…” Catelyn looks to Sansa. “Your father and I were always so proud of you and loved you so much and when I saw what _he_ did to you, I knew that I had taken a wrong turn somewhere and made a mistake somewhere.”

 

“No,” Sansa says fiercely. “You didn’t, mom. You are everything I want to be for Brandon.”

 

“It is the most common feeling to have in situations like this,” Brienne tells them all. “Self-blame. Wondering what _you_ did to make this happen. It is almost _always_ forgotten though that you didn’t do any of this. You are not responsible for any of this. The man who did this to Sansa, it is his fault and it is his blame to shoulder alone.”

 

“But I chose…” Sansa swallows. “I chose to be with him.”

 

“Yes, but you also chose to leave him,” Brienne reminds her. She looks to Ned and Cat. “Sansa has told me that she is in a new relationship.”

 

“Yes. Jon,” Catelyn answers with a faint smile.

 

“And how is he? Sansa has told me her thoughts on the man, but I’m curious as to your opinion, as her parents, seeing her in a relationship. Do you both like Jon?”

 

“Very much so. We’ve known him since he and our oldest, Robb, were little boys. He’s very much like a part of the family,” Ned says with his own faint smile. “And we know he loves both our daughter and grandson and would never hurt either of them and he also knows what will happen if he does.”

 

And it’s such a shocking thing to say and it’s completely inappropriate, but the laughter bursts from Sansa’s mouth before she can stop herself. She feels awful immediately after, slapping a hand over her mouth. She can’t believe she has actually laughed at that comment. What her dad, Robb and Jon did and did for _her_ , that is not a laughing matter and never will be.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes to them all.

 

Ned looks at her and it looks like he’s trying not to smile from her reaction and he lifts an arm, slipping it around her shoulders and hugging her into his side. Catelyn squeezes her hand once more.

 

“How does it feel, as her parents and as two people who have seen what Sansa has gone through, to have her be in a relationship with a man?” Brienne asks.

 

Catelyn answers this one. “I know that Jon was Sansa’s first love.” Sansa looks at her. “Whether she’s ever admitted that to me or not,” she adds with a smile. “I know that Jon loves Sansa fiercely and I know that seeing the two of them together, I haven’t seen either them as happy as they are right now. As a mother who loves her daughter, I just want to see Sansa happy. No one deserves to be happy more than her.”

 

“If it was another man, I wouldn’t be as accepting,” Ned admits. “But we know Jon. We _trust_ Jon. And Cat’s right. Sansa being happy is really the only thing that matters. And Jon knows we’re watching closely.”

 

“Stop,” Sansa whispers to him, trying so hard not to smile, and Ned gives her a quick wink.

 

“But Ned and I have noticed the changes over the past couple of months. Sansa isn’t the same woman she has been for the past few years. We know that she’s strong enough now to take care of herself if Jon does do anything,” Catelyn says.

 

“But that doesn’t mean that we are going to stop taking care of her just because she’s the bravest person we know. After everything, we just can’t let her go again,” Ned adds to his wife’s thoughts.

 

“I don’t think anyone could blame you for that, Warden Stark,” Brienne agrees and she continues talking to her parents, but the words honestly seem to fade in Sansa’s ears and she can’t hear anything anymore.

 

Strong _and_ brave? Her parents truly think those things about her? After everything?

 

They must because Ned and Cat Stark aren’t the sort of people to say things they don’t completely mean.

 

And Sansa has been trying so hard to keep it in and blink them away, but now, she can’t help it. The tears in her eyes start to trickle down her cheeks and Catelyn sees and, moving in closer to her, her arm joins her husband’s around her shoulders and together, both Ned and Catelyn hug her.

 

…

 

“Mama!” Brandon whines.

 

“Alright, alright. Just one more,” Sansa says with her phone still held up. “Smile!” She tells both and Jon and Brandon – in Jon’s arms – give her one more smile and Sansa smiles, too, snapping the picture. Jon keeps holding Brandon even as Brandon is squirming in his arms, desperate to be put down, and waits as Sansa checks the picture to make sure that it’s a good one. “Perfect. You’re done,” she tells them both.

 

Jon smiles as he bends over, setting Brandon down on his feet again and the toddler instantly scrambles over onto the couch, pulling himself up and sitting down, waiting. Sansa flips through the pictures she has taken of Jon and Brandon dressed for her parents’ anniversary dinner that evening – their matching black pants and black wool sweaters, fitting them both perfectly. Sansa still needs to change into her dress and she hopes, at the restaurant, someone will take a family picture of all three of them together.

 

“Alright, Brandon. I’m going to go get myself dressed now. Can you stay out here and watch television?” Sansa asks him.

 

“Yep!” Brandon readily promises.

 

“Don’t get yourself dirty and don’t get too much dog hair all over yourself,” Sansa adds.

 

“Yep!” Brandon exclaims again.

 

She heads into her bedroom – hers and _Jon’s_ bedroom – and she hears Jon say something to Brandon and then the familiar opening song of _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ begins on the television. Sansa closes the door and goes to the closet where her dress is hanging. She had wanted to match Jon and Brandon tonight, but not match them completely. Her dress is white with black stripes with sleeves, fitted up top and then a skirt that flares out ever so slightly. She honestly can’t wait to wear it tonight.

 

Just as she has pulled her sweater off, the door opens and Jon slips in, closing it behind him once again, and her phone dings. Sansa gives Jon a smile and he gives her a small one before he sits down on the edge of the bed and Sansa goes to her phone on the dresser to see who has sent her a message.

 

Margaery. Again. And she has sent her another picture of herself in a different dress.

 

 _This one_? Margaery texts.

 

 _This one is beautiful, too. Any of the last five will be perfect!_ Sansa quickly texts back. She’s half-tempted to tell her friend to ask Robb, but Robb is a bit hopeless when it comes to fashion. If he didn’t work in an office every day where it is required to wear a suit, Sansa knows that Robb would live in his jeans and vintage band tee-shirts or collection of Henley shirts.

 

Robb has actually sent her a text as well this evening of two shirts, asking her which one he should wear.

 

“Margaery again?” Jon asks.

 

“I keep telling her that there’s no reason to be so nervous. My parents have already met her and they already love her,” Sansa says as she unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down, tugging them off.

 

She doesn’t even think twice about being in her bra and underwear with Jon in the room. Not anymore.

 

“Tonight’s the night she’s coming though as Robb’s girlfriend. It’s nerve wracking,” Jon comments.

 

Sansa turns to him. “Is it?” She asks.

 

Jon just smiles and shakes his head a little. She wants to know when Jon has been nervous around her parents, but Jon is looking down at his hands, seeming to be studying them, and still in just her bra and underwear, she goes to sit beside him on the bed.

 

“You’re a million miles away,” she notes. “Are you alright? You look very handsome, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

Jon looks at her with a smile. “Well, they do say the clothes make the man.”

 

Sansa smiles, too, and her cheeks feel warm and Jon lifts a hand to one before kissing her gently on the lips. Sansa lifts her own hands to his face, fingers brushing back the curls he’s wearing down tonight. Her heart is fluttering in her chest because the kiss is just so gentle and soft and it makes her ache in the absolute best way. She finds herself hoping that Brandon sleeps soundly through the night tonight once they get home again after the dinner.

 

“I should get dressed,” she murmurs once their lips part.

 

She looks at him for a moment, her eyes staring into his and his hand gently brushes some of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. She gives him a small smile and leans in, brushing her nose against his, making him smile, too.

 

She gets up then and goes back to the dress hanging in the closet. She then goes to stand at the mirror standing in the corner and she’s aware of Jon’s eyes on her as she slips the dress over her head. It falls down perfectly over her body and she smiles at her reflection at the way it looks. Behind her, she sees Jon stand up from the bed and walk up behind her. Sansa smiles and blushes as his fingers pull the zipper up, careful he doesn't get any of her hair caught.

 

“You are so beautiful, Sansa,” he whispers, his arms slipping around her waist and his head dropping down, his face going to the crook of her neck.

 

Sansa smiles – blushing as if she’s never heard him say such a thing to her before – and closes her eyes, turning her head towards his. Through the closed door, they can both hear Brandon giggle at his show.

 

“Sansa,” Jon’s breath is warm on her skin and he lifts his head to look at her in the mirror’s reflection. “I talked to your mom, dad and Robb.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Jon keeps staring at her and her stomach clenches.

 

“Oh,” she whispers.

 

Jon squeezes his arms around her waist and then steps away. Sansa instantly turns to watch him as he walks to his dresser. From Jon’s flat, he had brought his tall chest of drawers over and they had placed it in the corner. She had cleared some room in the closet for him as well, but he only has two suits and he wears jeans every day to work and didn’t need all of the space she tried to give him.

 

He goes to the dresser now and opens the top drawer. Sansa is fairly certain that she’s not breathing.

 

“Jon…” she says his name, but she can’t think of anything to say other than his name.

 

Jon turns back towards her and she can clearly see the ring box in his hand. He stares at her for a moment. “Will you tell me if you feel this is too soon?” He asks.

 

Sansa shakes her head quickly. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was eighteen,” she says, her breathing already growing rapid and uneven.

 

“You’re the only thing I want, Sansa, and every day, I wake up and I can’t believe that I have you. After everything and being able to be with you again, you’re the only thing I want for the rest of my life.”

 

Sansa nods her head. “Yes,” she says breathlessly.

 

Jon’s lips quirk upwards. “I haven’t asked you anything yet,” he points out to her.

 

Sansa laughs and there are tears streaming down her cheeks and she’s just so glad that he didn’t do this when she was still wearing only her bra and underwear.

 

Jon smiles a little and he takes a step towards her and as he gets down on one knee in front of her, he flips the lid of the ring box. Sansa gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. The ring is beautiful – a white gold band and a circle diamond in the center.

 

“Sansa Stark, will you, Brandon and Lady let me and Ghost be a part of your life and will you marry me?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa doesn’t even hesitate in answering.

 

Jon exhales as if he was waiting for her answer to be something completely different and he slides the ring onto her left third finger. Sansa then sinks to her knees in front of him and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck and crying as Jon holds her tightly, holding her so tightly, Sansa wonders if he’ll ever let her go.

 

She hopes not.

 

This is all she’s wanted. When she was eighteen, she had dreams of being with Jon just like this – together and engaged and envisioning a shared life together – and for the longest time, she just never imagined that it would ever happen. Why would she think it would? Up until just a couple of months ago, she and Jon were as distanced as two exes could be. But they are here now and they love each other and they’re getting married. Sansa wants to run outside and scream as loud as she can.

 

Ramsay didn’t get her. He tried so hard, but he couldn’t get her in the end and he never will.

 

“Mama!” Brandon smacks a hand against the door from the other side.

 

Jon kisses the side of her head and slowly pulls away from her so he can go open the door and Sansa wipes at her cheeks, standing up and turning. Jon starts laughing and he then steps back, opening the door wider so she can see Brandon, too.

 

“Oh my goodness, Brandon Eddard Stark. What happened?” Sansa asks and she’s trying not to laugh.

 

When she left her son in the living room just a few minutes before, his sweater and pants had been perfectly black, but now? Now, his front is nearly complete covered in fine white dog hair.

 

“I hugged Ghost,” Brandon explains.

 

“I thought I told you not to get dog hair all over yourself,” Sansa says as she gets the lint roller from her dresser and then kneels down in front of Brandon to begin cleaning him off, but her eyes catch the engagement ring on her finger and she gets completely distracted.

 

Jon smiles, kneeling down next to her, and taking the lint roller from her, he begins running it over Brandon himself.

 

“Mama, you’re crying,” Brandon says and he reaches a finger out, touching a tear on her cheek.

 

Sansa takes his hand and kisses his fingertips. “They are the happiest tears in the world,” she assures her son and because she’s smiling, practically beaming, Brandon breaks into a wide smile, too.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to miss this story so much, but I am so excited for the last chapter and for Jon's POV follow-up sequel.


	34. Thirty-Two

…

 

**Thirty-Two.**

“The campus is lovely this time of night,” Catelyn comments from beside her on the same bench outside of the Student Union and Sansa smiles faintly because that is the exact same thing she had said the last time they had been sitting here, together, in this very spot.

 

Sansa tilts her head up and looks at the night sky – as black as ink – and there isn’t a cloud disturbing the view. The walkways on the Winterfell University Campus are lined with lampposts and their yellow light somewhat hides the stars hanging overhead, twinkling, but Sansa likes to imagine them nonetheless.

 

It has only been a week since Jon asked her to marry her and she accepted, but they haven’t really talked about the wedding and have yet to make any plans. Her family, of course – mainly her mom and Robb and even Arya – will ask when they want the wedding and where they will have it and will they have an open bar at the reception, but Sansa just shakes her head with a smile and says they haven’t made their minds up yet on anything.

 

Honestly, Sansa wants to just enjoy this time – the being engaged time – before they both completely drown themselves in the plans and deposits and possible disasters that come with having a wedding. She finds herself _almost_ tempted to suggest to Jon that they and Brandon just go somewhere and elope, but she knows she won’t be doing that. She can’t possibly do that to her family; to her mother.

 

When she and Jon told Brandon that they are going to get married, the three-year-old didn’t really understand the concept.

 

“Jon will still live here?” Brandon had asked and that seemed to be the only thing he was concerned over.

 

“I’m never going anywhere,” Jon promised him in a firm voice and Sansa had closed her eyes and leaned into him because she was trying to think of the last thing she heard that was as wonderful as that.

 

Despite not giving the other planning much thought right now, Sansa _has_ been thinking of her dress.

 

She has already designed Meera’s dress for when she and Bran get married in a couple of more months and Meera had enthusiastically been in love with it and she and Sansa went shopping at Mordane’s so Sansa could show her the possible fabrics for the dress and for Meera to make the final decision.

 

“I know I’m far from the first person to tell you this,” Meera said as Sansa showed her the fabrics. “But you really need to do this fulltime.”

 

Sansa just smiled and shook her head at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “The University has really good health insurance,” she said and it was the answer she always gave when that topic was brought up.

 

And it’s the truth. She would absolutely love to have the freedom to just leave her job and really do something she loves doing so much, and maybe if she didn’t have a child, she would feel brave enough to do such a thing, but that’s not how her life is. Brandon needs the stability of having a doctor and it isn’t as if Sansa hates her job at the library. It’s a good job with a good salary and she absolutely loves having Nan as her boss; knowing she’s very lucky to have a supervisor as kind and understanding as Nan always is.

 

Designing in her spare time is good enough because that’s what it has to be.

 

But she will find as much time as she needs when it comes to designing and creating her own wedding dress. There is no way that she is _not_ going to make her own wedding dress. She has been imagining her wedding dress – especially her wedding dress when she marries Jon – since she was eighteen and she finds herself already sketching in her notebook, working on several different ideas, when she, Jon and Brandon are in the living room after eating dinner, watching television.

 

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Catelyn cuts into her thoughts with a smile and Sansa looks down from the night sky to look at her mom.

 

Sansa smiles, too. “I was just thinking about when I was younger and wanted a ballroom gown for a wedding dress,” she says.

 

Catelyn lets out a soft laugh. “You were obsessed with Cinderella’s ball gown. I still have that sketch you did, trying to copy it.”

 

“You do?” Sansa asks as if she’s surprised though she really doesn’t know why she should be. Catelyn is the kind of mom to save absolutely _everything_ that her children have created over the years. Every piece of art, every homemade card, every Christmas ornament. She has boxes filled, piled in the attic.

 

All of them tease her for it – Sansa included – but now, Sansa does the exact same thing with Brandon.

 

Sansa had made the sketch when she was eight years old and all she wanted to do was watch _Cinderella_ every day despite the protests from her siblings and her dad begging her to watch anything else. It was around that age that she also discovered that she loved sketching clothes and was already learning how to sew with a small kids’ sewing machine her parents had gifted her with for her birthday.

 

“I’ve already made a few sketches of what I think I want the dress to be like,” Sansa continues once Catelyn just answers her question with a smile. “Maybe we can go to Mordane’s and start to look at fabrics this weekend and then maybe go for lunch?” She suggests.

 

Catelyn looks at her for a moment and it looks like she might start crying, but instead she smiles.

 

“I think that sounds wonderful,” she replies and Sansa smiles, too.

 

“Here we are!”

 

Both turn their heads when they see Tormund walking back their way, a drink tray in his hand. “Sorry that took so long. There was one of those annoying hipsters in front of me, wanting half of this and half of that. Order a black coffee and move the fuck on. Sorry, Mrs. Stark,” he then quickly adds.

 

Sansa stands with a laugh and Catelyn stands, smiling, and they take their paper cups of hot chocolate. Tormund takes his own and then turns to pitch the now-empty tray into the trash can before turning back to the two women.

 

“Were you waiting for me to get back before going in or just waiting in general?” Tormund asks.

 

Sansa takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Honestly, she has just been waiting. She wonders why though. Coming here, every Wednesday, not going into that support group meeting, and standing outside and not going in, she knows it’s time. She knows she can’t stand out here anymore. She has already taken so many steps, what’s a few more? And she won’t be alone. She has her mom and Tormund with her and they are two people who won’t leave her sides no matter what.

 

She takes a deep breath and looks at Catelyn and Tormund as they look at her. “Waiting for you to get back,” she answers in the strongest voice she can garner and actually, it _does_ sound quite strong, and Tormund grins and Catelyn smiles, slipping her arm through Sansa’s.

 

“You ready, dear?” Catelyn asks her.

 

Sansa looks to the Student Union in front of her, the lights glowing warmly inside through the windows. She takes another deep breath and looks to Catelyn and then Tormund before looking back towards the building. She can do this. Just one foot in front of the other.

 

She can do this.

 

She can do anything.

 

Sansa nods her head. “I’m ready,” she decides.

 

“Hell, yeah, you are,” Tormund gives her a grin. “Sorry, Mrs. Stark,” he then quickly adds.

 

Catelyn lets out a laugh and Sansa smiles as Tormund steps ahead of them to open the door for them and with one more deep breath, Sansa steps through, her mom and Tormund right at her sides.

 

…

 

Sansa bursts into laughter and she can feel Jon smiling against her jaw as he holds her from behind.

 

“Why are you laughing?” He asks. “It’s an amazing song.”

 

“Don’t you think it sends a bad message to our guests? _Road to Nowhere_ as our first song to dance to?” Sansa asks, still smiling so widely, she’s nearly still laughing, and she turns her head to look at him. “Your taste in music is extremely questionable. I can’t believe I’m marrying you.”

 

Jon grins at that – actually grins – the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Talking Heads is an amazing band and I can’t believe I’m marrying such a music snob.”

 

Sansa laughs again and still smiling, Jon turns and presses his face into the side of her throat.

 

It is the last cross country meet of the season and they are back in Karhold; the entire Stark family having made the trip to cheer on Rickon that weekend. Wintertown is already ranked as number one among the high school cross country teams so this meet isn’t necessarily important, but Rickon is running to beat his own record that he had set previously the year before on Karhold’s course. And even though he is only a sophomore, there is also a scout there from the cross country team of Oldtown University in Dorne, having traveled all of this way to specifically see Rickon today even though there is no way that Ned and Catelyn Stark will let their son go nearly _that_ far away for college.

 

Jon and Sansa are keeping the family’s place at a bend in the course’s route as the others have gone off – either for the bathroom and warm themselves up inside or to talk with others they recognize from Wintertown – or in her parents’ case, people who want to talk to them – or to get themselves something hot from one of the various food trucks. Robb and Margaery have taken Brandon to get hot apple cider with promises that they will bring cups back for Jon and Sansa as well and right now, it is just the two of them among the crowds of people gathered there that day.

 

“Let me guess. Our first dance will be a Beatles song?” Jon asks, resting his chin on her shoulder.

 

Sansa is quiet for a moment, thinking of all of the possible songs. “Well, they _have_ written quite a few amazing love songs.”

 

“Just a few?” Jon teases.

 

“ _And I Love Her_ ,” Sansa then decides. She turns her head once again to look at him. “What do you think?”

 

She watches him as he’s quiet, clearly placing the song in his head and thinking of the lyrics. A small smile then pulls at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Yeah, that could work,” he agrees and Sansa smiles, almost laughing, and she leans in, kissing the corner of his mouth and Jon hugs her closer to his chest.

 

She wonders when the back of her mind will accept that this isn’t a dream; that this is really happening and she is really going to be marrying Jon and that this is really her life now.

 

“Excuse me, Sansa Stark?”

 

Both Sansa and Jon turn their heads to see who spoke and Sansa can’t help, but instantly stiffen.

 

“Mr. … Mr. Bolton,” she stutters and Jon slowly drops his arms from around her as Sansa steps forward, her eyes glued to the man in front of her.

 

“I thought I kept reminding you to call me Roose,” the man says with the faintest of smiles that doesn’t look as if it’s much of a smile at all.

 

The smile doesn’t make her blood run cold though; not like his son’s smile was able to do to her.

 

“Of course, Mr. Bolton. Roose,” she quickly corrects herself. “How… how are you?”

 

She can’t seem to get herself to stop stuttering. Her stomach feels to be a complete disaster right now, flipping every which way, and she’s just grateful that she hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast and declined any of the popcorn from the tub Robb had purchased from one of the food trucks earlier.

 

If she had, Roose Bolton would have a popcorn regurgitated mess all over his shoes right now.

 

“I’m well. Busy. How are you?” The man asks. He had always been so polite to her. She had thought that perhaps because he is a Lord of the North and her father is Warden, but he seems to be always polite to her because that’s just who he is.

 

 _Roose Bolton is not a bad man_.

 

Her father’s words echo in her mind now and Sansa finds herself agreeing. He has never been bad to her in the few times that they had been in the same vicinity as one another and a father should not be held responsible for the actions of their sons. Eventually, the job of raising a child is complete and it’s up to that child to be a good, productive member of society.

 

Still though, Ramsay is dead and as far as she knows, Roose has no idea and one of the men responsible for it is standing right behind her.

 

Sansa feels she has every right in the world to feel a bit nervous right now.

 

“I’m good,” she tries to say in a voice that he will actually believe. “This is Jon Snow, my fiancé.”

 

Jon takes that as his cue to step forward, standing next to Sansa. Roose holds his hand out politely and Jon doesn’t hesitate in shaking it. Sansa had thought that maybe he would hesitate.

 

“Hello. Congratulations,” Roose says with a head nod directed towards him.

 

“Thank you,” Jon replies – just as politely.

 

Sansa wonders if his insides are a jumbled mess like hers are right now, but on the outside, Jon looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Sansa’s not sure if she should be afraid of that or not. But what does she want him to do? Drop to his knees in front Roose right now and admit that he murdered his son? The police would come and cart Jon away and Ramsay isn’t worth that. No one will take Jon away from her.

 

“Snow Construction?” Roose then wonders.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“I heard Baratheon Projects is interested in buying your company,” Roose then comments.

 

Sansa’s head instantly turns to look at him. “They are? Why?”

 

“I didn’t mention it, yet, just because they have _just_ started talking to me about it,” Jon says to Sansa, looking at her, and for a moment, Roose isn’t there anymore. “Robert and Stannis Baratheon have told me that while they do some work in the North, they don’t have the relationships needed and they have heard nothing, but good things about me and the company.”

 

Sansa has absolutely no idea what to say to that so she doesn’t say anything – not at the moment anyway.

 

“We still have to talk more,” Jon says to Roose.

 

“Well, good luck to you on that,” Roose says and then looks back to Sansa. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not a _little_ upset. I had such hopes that you would be the one to finally get Ramsay to turn himself around,” Roose admits.

 

Jon’s arm is around Sansa’s waist and Sansa can feel him stiffen and she does the same at the words.

 

“Oh…” Sansa then manages to say, but all other words die in her mind.

 

“But then, on the other hand, I always knew you were too good for him and that he didn’t deserve you.”

 

“Yes...” Sansa whispers, again completely at a loss of the English language right now. “Um, what is he up to now?” She asks and she wonders _why_ she has just asked that.

 

“No idea,” Roose shakes his head, but Sansa notes that he doesn’t seem particularly broken up about it. “We had an argument one night – a particularly bad one – and I haven’t heard from him since. I assume he’s gone off to Essos. He always talked about going over there and getting away from me.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“Well, I’ll let you two get back to the meet. Is your father around here?” Roose asks.

 

“He’s over by the heat tent, sir,” Jon answers for her.

 

“Thank you,” Roose gives them another polite smile and incline of his head. “Goodbye, Sansa.”

 

Sansa stands there, not moving or speaking or honestly even breathing. “Goodbye,” she finally is able to say, but Roose is already too far away to have heard.

 

Jon squeezes his arm around her. “Are you okay?” He asks.

 

Her heart is racing so quickly, it is thumping against her ribcage, actually hurting a bit, and Sansa looks at him. “Are _you_ okay?” She asks.

 

Jon doesn’t say anything, but he takes her hand and unzips his coat just enough for him to rest Sansa’s hand on his chest, over his heart. It takes her a moment, but she soon realizes that his heart is racing just as quickly as hers.

 

Without a word, she exhales a heavy breath and closing her eyes, she leans into him, resting her forehead to his and she keeps her hand over his heart until finally, she begins to feel it return to a normal pace. And focusing on Jon’s heart, her own begins to slow down as well.

 

“Mama! Jon!”

 

Sansa pulls her head away just enough for both Jon and her to turn to see Brandon running towards them. Robb and Margaery are following behind, watching him as he weaves through the people. Robb has bought Brandon a corndog and the boy holds it in his mitten-clad hand, protecting it close to his chest as he hurries over to them.

 

With his arm not around Sansa’s waist, Jon bends down just enough, holding out his other arm, and Brandon runs right to him. Jon scoops him up with a smile and Sansa smiles, too, wiping at a dab of mustard at the corner of Brandon’s mouth with her gloved fingertip.

 

“Did I miss Uncle Rickon? I don’t wanna miss anything,” Brandon then asks, breathless from a mixture of his running and the excitement of the meet.

 

Sansa smiles and shakes her head. She leans in and kisses her son on the cheek. “You didn’t miss anything, sweetling. I promise.”

 

Brandon smiles at her.

 

Jon doesn’t say anything, but with his arms around them both, he holds them as close as he can and Sansa can’t imagine him ever letting either of them go ever again.

 

…

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank everyone enough for all of the reads, kudos, comments and support you have shown this story. I am still fairly new to this fandom and I am blown away at the response I received. Thank you for everything.


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